One More Drink
by dorkcolfer
Summary: Blaine Anderson is a bartender at a local club, and one night a chance meeting turns his world - not to mention Kurt's world - upside down. THIS STORY IS NOW ON INDEFINITE HIATUS GUYS, SORRY!
1. Cats are Death

**Notes: **Here you go! It's not long, but it's a sort of introduction, so... Hope you enjoy the banter... :p

Cats are Death

Blaine Anderson came home to the sounds of someone screaming: "I am going to _kill_ you!" at the top of their lungs. To anyone else, this might have sounded serious. _Life threatening_, if you will. But Blaine simply sighed and pushed his way into the apartment.

He found his sister, Tyler, standing in the middle of the living room with a face as red as her hair. He couldn't tell why, until he got closer. She was holding the remains of her pillow, watching its innards fly through the air before settling on the floor. Her sentences were fragments wrapped around strings of swears as she attempted to hold the attention the less-than interested black cat that was currently slinking into Blaine's room.

"I'm home," Blaine said slowly. Tyler spun around mid curse. Her eyes narrowed and darkened with a certain amount of undiluted rage, causing Blaine to retreat into the kitchen before Tyler could strangle him.

"This is your fault! Your _damn _cat is trying to _ruin_ my life! You are _buying_ me a new pillow," she said. She ran a finger through her hair and picked up a few pieces of fluff at her feet.

"Fine," Blaine replied, pulling some things out of his shopping bag. "I got milk."

"I _meant_ you're buying me one _now_. I can't go to sleep tonight if I don't have a pillow, can I?" she said sourly. "Plus, I need to get out of the house before I scalp that cat."

Blaine laughed and stuck a carton of eggs in the fridge. "What even _started_ this war of dominance between you two?"

"If you'll remember, Pav's full name is Pavoratti the second. You named him after the bird he _ate_. Isn't that a little _odd_?"

"Okay, agree to disagree," Blaine said quickly, not wanting to start a fight he knew he'd lose. It wasn't his fault he had a soft spot for the cat, and that particular name. He changed the subject abruptly. "Pillow now?"

Tyler shrugged and grabbed her flip-flops, not bothering with the fact that she was still wearing pajamas. This wasn't terribly out of the ordinary; the twins shared the role of bartender at one of the many New York clubs, and often weren't in bed until well after one A.M. Blaine was okay with getting up before ten (it just gave him an excuse to feed his caffeine addiction), but Tyler had never made an attempt to get up until at least twelve. She'd probably just emerged from her cave of a bedroom.

She took the milk Blaine still held out of his hand as she brushed by, drinking it straight out of the jug before re-capping it, placing it in the fridge, and walking out the door without another word. Blaine followed her out, wrinkling his nose.

"You really should date," Blaine suggested. He said this regularly, and he really did mean it. Socializing with potential interests, whether they be guys or girls (he still had no idea if she was straight or not), might get her to stop loitering around like a total slob.

Tyler chuckled and gave him her usual response, full of cheekiness and snark. "I could have anyone I wanted in a heartbeat, believe me, I know." She used the railing on the stairs to counteract her half-asleep zombie walk. "But, as I've told you before..."

Blaine cut her off with a groan and an obvious eye roll. "You're 'perpetually single', I know, I know." He rubbed his hands together as he stepped out into the slightly chilly weather. He didn't know how Tyler flounced around in open toed shoes year-round. Maybe her hatred for not being allowed to go barefoot outweighed her need to resist frostbite.

Tyler smiled to herself, knowing full well that her brother had her speech memorized backwards and forwards. It was actually one of her pastimes, forcing him to recite segments of it in order to prove her points.

The nearest subway entrance was a block or so away from their house, so they walked in a comfortable silence. They had a lot of moments like these; Tyler, as a general rule, didn't talk much in public, because that led to frighteningly embarrassing situations in which they were banned from stores and restaurants. And Blaine didn't want to get her started, so they just...walked, giggling every now and again when someone gave them a weird look.

After a while, Tyler slung her arm around Blaine's shoulders and pointed up as they passed a giant billboard, and Blaine groaned. It was one for a play on Broadway, a new one he hadn't gotten the chance to see yet, but it starred Kurt Hummel.

And Kurt Hummel...well, he was the most attractive person Blaine had ever seen in his life.

He couldn't remember the first time he'd seen a picture. Maybe after Kurt had scored his first lead role, maybe before. But when he had, he'd made the mistake of telling Tyler, and she was a big fan of beating the dead horse. New York City was littered with a bunch of signs just like this one, which meant that she was pointing them out to him every few minutes.

Needless to say, he was very happy when they got on the subway.

~o0o~

Blaine was quite happy to return home after what could only be called "the pillow fiasco". What was supposed to be a simple trip to a department store had turned into a two hour long argument with a salesperson about why it was against company policy to allow customers to try out the pillows without the plastic covering (which was basically just a complete segue back to the whole "Tyler shouldn't talk in public" thing), and he had started to develop a migraine within the first thirty minutes.

So when he walked through the door, he went straight for the aspirin. Tyler trailed behind him, holding a new pillow to her chest and spewing empty apologies like they were in endless supply.

"Just shut up, okay? I know you're not sorry." Blaine swallowed his aspirin and put his hand in the air, waving her off. "It's not a big deal. I'm going to go lie down until work."

"I'll wake you up."

"Whatever." Blaine walked into his room and closed the door, sighing before flipping the light on and looking around. The room was sparsely furnished; a couple of things on the walls, a nightstand and dresser. Pav was curled up on the small twin bed in the corner. It wasn't much, but it was home, and it was functional. He shooed the cat away from the bed so he had space. He collapsed and rolled over, his eyes locking on the picture on his nightstand.

It was of him and Tyler, holding up the trophy from Regionals the year she helped his high school show choir with part of their set list. The "Dalton Academy Warblers" had needed a female vocal, and he'd volunteered her.

That moment, the moment right after the photo was taken, was the moment when they created their graduation plan, voiced their ideas to each other and compromised. They would move to New York, go to college (NYU for Blaine, musical education and English double major. NYADA for Tyler, musical theatre and performance), and then they would both be successful and happy and _young_ for pretty much forever.

Except, that's not how it worked out.

They'd both finished their studies, sure...but Blaine couldn't find a job teaching, and Tyler gave up on going out for auditions. So they moved in with each other and found the first job they could. And that was how they ended up in their current situation, with their night job serving the idiots at the club and their apartment that was barely big enough.

This was after they'd prayed for the day when they'd turn twenty one so they could apply for the position that paid so well.

Blaine fell asleep with Pav on his chest, thinking about how much easier it would have been if their parents hadn't cut them off.

~o0o~

"Rachel _fucking_ Berry, I swear to God, if you do _not_ stop wigging out this very second, I will throw the entirety of your terrible wardrobe into the nearest vat of _toxic waste _and laugh when you cry about your long lost animal sweaters!"

Believe it or not, Kurt Hummel said all those words to Rachel while making it very apparent that he didn't mean it. There was sarcasm, there was eye rolling. For God's sake, he even _smiled._ And Rachel still looked appalled.

"Shh! I told you; I threw all those away! I didn't even _donate_ them because I knew what you would have to say about that!" she trailed off and smiled tightly as someone from the makeup crew walked by, raising their eyebrow at the pair. "Anyway, I'm just...it's what we've always _wanted_, Kurt. We always wanted to run off to New York, to Broadway, and now we're here, and we're both successful, and I just want to cry because I'm afraid I'm going to wake up and I'm going to be in bed in Lima and my dads will be at the door with my morning herbal tea..."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You better believe it, girlie. C'mon; I'll buy you lunch before you have to go back to Gershwin." he took Rachel by the wrist and practically dragged her out of the theatre, onto the busy street. He was wearing a hat, and thankfully, he was still mostly recognized by his voice and his hair, so he went relatively unnoticed. Rachel had no qualms, either, as she probably wouldn't be noticed unless she were painted green and wearing all black.

They decided on a relatively quaint coffee shop that made killer sandwiches in addition to fantastic coffee, and ordered to go. They paid separately, due to a long-standing agreement that they'd always argue if they had to keep up with "who's turn it was", and left.

They ate as they mulled around the streets, just looking around in different shop windows and chatting idly. After the food was gone, they went their separate ways and promised to make time to see each other later that day.

As Kurt walked back to the theatre, he smiled to himself. He would never tell Rachel, he knew, but he really did understand how she felt. He was reenacting a dream, one he never thought would have been possible. He had everything he ever wanted, save for one thing.

He never did find that special someone.

And that was how he knew he wasn't dreaming.

**End Notes: **Hope I made good of the first impression! It makes me happy when I see the read count go up, but I'd also like to get some reviews to know what you guys think and where you'd like to see the story go. I have some ideas but they aren't set in stone, so...

Please review if you can!


	2. Pulse

Here you go! I hope you enjoy! I was writing it and it got a little cliche, but, y'know, what do you do?

Pulse

Blaine was jarred awake when the shower sputtered to life. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. It was almost ten. That made sense. Tyler was probably getting ready for work. He sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, sighing.

His routine was fairly mechanical by now - shower, dress in simple clothes that adhered to the club's dress code and would still allow him to maneuver quickly behind the bar, eat something to keep him going until his break, pet the cat, and leave. Go about the list backwards if Tyler made it to the bathroom first.

He decided on a pair of dark wash jeans and a white t-shirt and set them on the bed next his black employee vest and those old pair of oxfords he kept around just because the floor in the club could get so sticky.

Dinner was easy; there was spaghetti left over from a day when Tyler had been agreeable enough to instill a temporary sense of teamwork. He ate quietly, listening to the steady thrum of the refrigerator that filled the apartment.

"Shower's yours!"

Blaine's head flung up just in time to see Tyler tromp across the living room in nothing but a towel. "TYLER!" he groaned, closing his eyes tightly. He didn't need to instigate another learning moment. He just needed to get to work.

She stopped cold, drops of water falling from her hair and making little marks on the carpet. A devilish smile creeped across her face, and her eyes twinkled. "Don't give me that. Not only are you my brother, but you're gay. You don't give a rat's ass. In fact, if I walked back to my room _completely_ naked, I think you'd still be indifferent."

Blaine sighed and bit his lip. Tyler had a point; he really didn't care. But she needed to add the word "manners" to her vocabulary. She was like Cooper in that aspect - she was most likely going to be a five year old at heart forever. "It's still _rude_. What if we had company?"

"See, that's where you are wrong," Tyler explained. "I wouldn't do this if we had company. In fact, I'd probably go sleep on a bus. So all _you_ need to do is bring home some boys!" With that, she darted into her room and left Blaine alone once more.

_Okay_, he thought. _That went well._

~o0o~

"Where're we going?" Kurt asked. He strained against Rachel's grip as she dragged him into a cab.

Rachel just winked and pulled harder. "Get in the damn car, okay?" she groaned. "I promise; it's no where_ bad_."

One more yank, and Kurt flew head first into the car, nearly getting decapitated by a rogue seatbelt. The sound Kurt made was loud and most likely ungodly, but it was better than the way his outfit probably looked, getting rumpled up by a forced entrance to a vehicle. He straightened himself out in the seat and sighed when the cab began to move. "Tell me where we're going, or I swear I'm getting out of the car. I know how to tuck and roll, promise."

"There's this great little club I found a few weeks back, called _Pulse,_" Rachel said. "Good drinks, people who aren't crazy. You know, everyone's ideal place."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Fine. _Fine_. I'll go out with you. But only because I promised earlier today under the assumption that you meant _dinner_."

Rachel just grinned.

~o0o~

_Pulse_ was very particular about how their employees showed up. You had to walk in through the back, clock in, and inform the manager via text message that you had arrived. Blaine flew through the steps in record time and was soon behind the bar with Tyler, revelling in the chilled atmosphere. He was grateful for it; he didn't think he'd be too great at his job if he weren't working with customers that showed up already mildly intoxicated.

His first drink of the night was a vodka lemonade that went to a regular. A woman, probably a couple years older than Blaine. Stringy brown hair, too much makeup. She had a weird accent he couldn't place, and despite his best efforts, she always flirted with him.

"Here," she said as he handed her the drink. "Have a tip." She slipped a crisp twenty dollar bill across the counter, winking. Blaine could only groan inwardly. That was the largest tip she'd given yet, and he felt kind of guilty accepting it. He opened his his mouth to say something, but then hesitated.

After all this time, he was probably about to embarrass her beyond belief. If he would have manned up and done it earlier, he wouldn't be having this problem. Still...

"Sorry, I'm-"

There was a loud bang from one of the speakers, cutting off what he was saying entirely. He closed his eyes for a second, and then she was gone. _Great_.

He got into a rhythm after that, alternating the sides of the bar with Tyler. She bumped into him every few minutes, smirking knowingly in his direction before slinking away as Blaine tried get her back. It was nice. Simple. The time flew by, and before he knew it, it was nearly midnight, when he normally took his break. He handed out one last drink and dried his hands.

"I'm gonna go chill out for a few minutes, kay?" Blaine tapped Tyler on the shoulder as she was topping off a cocktail with some a lime. She jumped, and citrus juice went everywhere. _Including_ her eye. Blaine had to keep from snorting as she did a little surprised dance that reminded him somewhat of a monkey with an itch.

"Oh fu...Jesus, Blaine, don't do that!" she rubbed her eye and shrugged, mostly recovered, though she kept her eye closed shut. "That's fine. Hey, can you go get Bobby from the D.J. booth? I need him to do me a favor."

"What _kind_ of favor?" He cocked his head, unsure of what he was getting himself into. Tyler made a sport of pulling him into plans that were by all means explicit and chalk-full of innuendo by being exceptionally vague. That fact that they were in their workplace made no difference.

"Oh _God_, Blaine, get your mind out of the gutter!" she giggled. "It's nothing bad. Just get him."

Blaine shrugged and left the bar, pushing through the throng of tightly packed dancers. Usually, the term "D.J. booth" made him want to run and hide, because he didn't generally like being part of the crowds. He delivered his message quickly as possible and then cleared out, heading in the direction of the bathroom. His cell vibrated, and he pulled it out, straining to see the screen in the strobe lights.

Bad mistake.

He slammed into someone, a wall of a body suddenly knocking the phone out of his hand and onto the floor, along with whatever the other guy had been holding.

~o0o~

_Shit. _Shit. _Why don't people watch where they're going?_ Kurt thought angrily. He bent over to grab his cell phone and studied the guy that'd bumped into. All in all, he didn't seem too bad. Kurt couldn't really see his face, what with the shitty lighting, but he was apologizing profusely.

"No, it's fine!" He practically screamed. "Don't worry about it!" he patted the guy on the shoulder and left to find Rachel, who was probably well on her way to being wasted. She had loosened up when they made it to New York, and with that relaxed persona a reputation for going overboard when they went out was developed. The reputation rang true, and he normally ended up granting her access to his couch.

The memory of last time stirred a terrible thought in his mind, and he panicked.

_Oh dear God, please don't let her drool on my throw pillow again._

~o0o~

Kurt woke up to the unfamiliar sound of the land-line ringing. His head was pounding, and he didn't even have the energy to recognize this as unusual. He stumbled out of his bedroom and grappled for the phone that was sitting, slightly dusty, in the cradle.

"'Lo?" he breathed, looking over his shoulder into the living room. Rachel wasn't on the couch, but that didn't mean she wasn't passed out somewhere else in the apartment. He'd just have to go searching for her later.

_"Kurt, honey? Why weren't you answering your phone?"_

"Oh, hey, Carole," he muttered. "I'm sorry. Must have forgotten to plug my phone in last night. Nothing crazy, promise. That's why Dad insisted on the land-line, though." he ran a finger through his hair and cringed when he felt day-old hairspray, meaning his drunk self hadn't bothered with a shower.

_"Yeah, okay. I was just calling to check up on you. Are we still have tickets for your show next week, correct?" _The prospect of flying to New York to see the same show for the umpteenth time seemed to thrill Carole, and Kurt honestly had no idea why. He'd figured opening night would have been enough.

"Yep! You and Dad can sleep in the guest room like the last few times; stop trying to get a hotel."

_"But Kurt..."_

Kurt rolled his eyes, knowing he was getting sucked into an hour long plus conversation. He even forgot about trying to locate Rachel, who he would later find out _had,_ in fact, made it home without losing any important extremities.

~o0o~

_Bzz. Bzz bzz. BZZ!_

Blaine rolled over and grabbed his phone off his nightstand, cringing when he saw the clock. Eight thirty. _Eight fucking thirty._ He couldn't remember anybody that he hadn't told his schedule. Except maybe his parents.

He didn't have the decency to check caller I.D.

"Hello?"

_"Kurt?"_

Blaine was instantly relieved. Wrong number. Not his parents. Crisis averted. "No, sorry, not me."

_"That's not...I have this number on speed dial..."_

Blaine pulled his phone away from his ear for a moment to look at the I.D. and immediately discovered two things.

One. Someone named Quinn was calling him.

Two. The phone wasn't his.

It was the same model, the same color. But it was certainly less abused. The chip on the corner from where Blaine had dropped it down the concrete stairs outside the apartment was gone. There was a screen protector, which he would have never considered before. And then he remembered.

He'd bumped into that guy at the club last night.

He must have picked up the wrong phone.

Blaine internally face-palmed and brought the phone back to his ear. "Yeah, hi, um...I don't know...I ran into someone at a bar, last night, and..."

Quinn cut him off before he could say anymore. _"Kurt went to a bar? Kurt let _Rachel _take him to a bar? I am going to kill them! They ditched me for some booze! And you! Did you go home with him? Is that why you answered his phone?"_

Blaine's eyes widened at the accusation, and even though he wasn't talking to this person face to face, he felt his cheeks turn red. "No. _No!_ What I was going to say before you interrupted me was that I ran into him. Like, literally. We both dropped our phones, and I must have...I must have grabbed the wrong one..."

There was a hitched breath of air, most likely from surprise. _"Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be like that. I'll tell him he has the wrong phone, and maybe you could text your number? To let him know? Yeah. Do that. I have to go, but happy searching!"_ The line went dead suddenly, and Blaine didn't know what to think.

He pulled up the text messages, and trying not to look at the existing ones, he started a new conversation with the phone's newest contact.

**To Blaine: hi this may sound weird, but I think we accidentally swapped cell phones last night. text back when you see this. I'm blaine, by the way. just so you have something to call me.**

~o0o~

Kurt heard his phone ring, so he excused himself from his conversation with Carole and followed the noise. The ringtone was different, some classic rock song, but it didn't really phase him. He didn't put it past himself to change it to fit his preferences while drunk.

The phone was sitting on his desk, and _whoa_. He sure as hell dropped it a lot last night. But then he read the text, and everything made sense. Why Carole couldn't get a hold of him, why the ringtone was different, and why the phone was so banged up. (Seriously, though, who treated a perfectly useful piece of technology like that?)

He texted back instantly, his head swimming.

**To Kurt: thank god. i'm kurt, just so you have something to call ME. hopefully we can get together and swap the phones back soon. sound like a plan?**

~o0o~

Blaine couldn't help but wonder. How many guys in New York City were there named Kurt? He guessed he'd find out soon enough.

**To Blaine: deal.**

Okay! Hope you enjoyed, and if you want, you can waddle over to my tumblr masterpost ((.)tumblr(.)com/onemoredrink for some more stuff.

As always, reviews are appreciated greatly.


	3. Meeting

**Author's note: Here you go! This is totally unbeta'd, so don't hit me if there are typos. I do my best, and I think it's in the clear for the most part. Enjoy!**

Meeting

**To Kurt: hey blaine. ive been trying to find a time when we can meet but I dont have anything open until after next week.**

**To Kurt: heres the thing though. i need my phone. i live life to the fullest. people know me, i know people. and people are prone to conversation. any ideas?**

**From Kurt: if you have plans for dinner with someone, i can run by the restaurant and we can swap really quick.**

**To Kurt: i don't want to do that; the idea makes my skin crawl with the rudeness seeping from its pores. besides, i want to meet you! youve told me too much. im invested.**

**From Kurt: i havent told you that much.**

**To Kurt: lets see. blaine, male (but i knew that), 26...**

**From Kurt: thats not much.**

**To Kurt: it's enough. i can be curious, can't i?**

**From Kurt: whatever.**

~o0o~

Kurt grabbed his coat from it's place slung across a kitchen chair and scrambled for the coffee cup sitting on the counter. He couldn't believe he'd overslept as much as he had, and now he'd unintentionally given himself thirty minutes to get to the airport to pick up his parents. In New York, that was a _nightmare_ waiting to happen. He slipped his phone - no, _Blaine's _phone - into his pocket and very nearly sprinted out the door.

Hailing a cab was easy; Kurt found that when you were standing on the side of the road in near-new designer clothing, the assumption made by drivers was that you tipped well. Once he'd told the driver where he needed to be, he settled back into the seat and stared out the window.

He really liked moments like these, when he could really appreciate everything he had. He'd come so far in just the last few years, and though he loved his job, it often left him unable to daydream. He watched the buildings and posters roll by outside, smiling softly every time he saw one emblazoned with the name of _his_ musical.

When Kurt received a text message from Blaine, informing him that 'someone named Burt' was texting _him,_ saying the plane had landed, he knew he was in trouble. In truth, he'd known that when he'd woken up and glanced at the clock, but now he _knew_ he was going to get the third degree for not being responsive. He pulled Blaine's phone out of his pocket and hesitantly dialed his father's cell phone number.

_"Hello?"_

"Dad, it's Kurt. Sorry I'm not calling from my phone, it's a long story."

_"Oh, yeah. I sent you a text. We're at the airport right now. You here?"_

"No, actually, that's why I'm calling. I forgot to set my alarm clock and overslept. I'm running a little behind." Kurt held a breath. He loved his dad, and he knew what he was about to hear was right. He just didn't want to listen to the same "time management" speech again, and again, and again...

~o0o~

"You lost your phone? And you didn't tell me for _three days_?" Tyler repeated. There seemed to be something she wasn't saying, and Blaine looked at her in confusion.

"I didn't _lose_ it. I picked up the wrong one when...why is this even a big deal for you? I'll get it back. It's not like we're going to have to change my number. The guy really wants _his_ phone back, too." Blaine leaned back into the counter, his eyebrow furrowing.

"I may have..." she breathed, face turning a little pink. Blaine resisted the urge to plug his ears. Whenever Tyler appeared embarrassed, which was rare, it was normally for a fantastically _great_ reason. "I may have sent some..._risque _text messages this earlier. Before you told me." she explained. "Poking fun at your nonexistent sex life and such. I thought you were out getting coffee or something! It never occurred to me..."

Blaine just laughed, relieved it wasn't something worse. Because going on past experience, things _could_ be a lot more interesting. And by interesting, he meant "wanting to shoot himself" worthy. "I bet he got a kick out of that."

Tyler cocked her head, her face slowly turning back to it's normal shade. She seemed to rediscover her forgotten coffee mug and sipped it tentatively, wrinkling her nose when she realized that the liquid caffeine had long since gone cold.

"From what I can tell, he's got a pretty weird sense of humor. It'll be fine." Blaine shrugged.

Tyler rolled her eyes, the embarrassment of the moment clearly gone. She poured her "You're weird."

"But you love me anyway."

"If only that were _true_."

~o0o~

"Hey, Rach, what're you doing here?" Kurt was looking through the mirror, and saw Rachel enter the dressing room. He turned around in his chair and watched as Rachel set her things down on the small sofa by the door.

"I don't have a performance tonight," Rachel explained, "and I realized that I've never seen your show before, because of overlapping times. So I decided I'd stop by, see if there were any extra tickets. Wish you good luck, that sort of thing."

Kurt smiled. "That's perfect! I actually have an extra seat reserved next to my parents, so you can sit by them tonight. I'm sure they'd love to catch up with you and ask about _Wicked_. I can't leave backstage, but I'll have someone show you out."

Rachel seemed thrilled at the idea, but then something else caused her face to crease with worry. "Finn..._Finn's_ not out there, is he?"

Kurt shook his head and turned back to face the mirror, picking up a tube of moisturizer for one last touch up before he let his makeup artist, Kelsey, have at him. "No, Rachel, he's not. And one of these days, you're going to have to sit down with him and have _that _conversation with him. And yeah, it's gonna be awkward and painful, even after what? Nine years? But it's kind of inevitable. I still can't believe you've avoided it this long."

Rachel sighed and dropped her head into her hands. "God, I know, I just...Aaron's part of the equation now, and I really just don't want to deal with it. Can we talk about this later? It's only going to end badly, and I don't want you to go on stage pissed off or something. I know how that is, and it's not fun."

Kurt nodded. He didn't get how she felt; this whole situation was over his head. But he could imagine. And what he envisioned was pretty terrible. Breaking up with the guy you were going to _marry_ on your wedding day and being shipped off to New York with your very _gay _best friend instead...no wonder she refused to visit with the Hudson-Hummels when they went home for Christmas. "Sure thing. Hey, can you hand me the sweatshirt that's sitting next to you? Kelsey likes to keep her workspace freakishly cold, and I'm not freezing my ass off just so she can do my hair."

Next thing Kurt knew, his vision was blocked by the grey cotton-polyester blend of his old McKinley High hoodie. His muffled laugh echoed throughout the room, and Rachel couldn't help but join in, their issues temporarily forgotten.

~o0o~

Kurt was sure he would never get enough of this.

Just standing outside the stage doors after a show, looking at all the people that didn't care who he was or what he was like. All they cared was that he was great at his job, and that was something he felt so humbled in knowing. He signed a few autographs and thanked the crowd several times before walking down the pathway and climbing in the car that was waiting for him.

There was something about coming out the stage doors every night that always got to him. It wasn't some big, profound thing, no, he simply found himself pinching his arm again and again each night, because this was the time when he allowed himself to be unsure, to think that maybe this was a dream. That he went to sleep every night and dreamt that he was on Broadway, _dreamt _that he was some kind of growing icon.

If it was, he hoped he never woke up.

~o0o~

**From Blaine: i actually have a lunch opening today, if that works!**

**To Blaine: It does if you don't mind me considering your lunch my breakfast. i work the night shift!**

**From Blaine: wow...you're at that bar every night? no matter. I have the perfect place. lemme text you the details, hold on...**

~o0o~

"I'm going out!" Blaine said. He barely had his hand on the doorknob when Tyler was right behind him, rubbing her eyes. She was quite a sight, what with her fuzzy Spongebob pajamas (which she swore up and down were the _epitome _of classy), bunny slippers, and an old hoodie from high school. She was wearing those horrifically thick glasses and Blaine swore he could see a little bit of the stupid idiot of a fifteen year old she used to be.

"I _heard_," she said sleepily, her hands curled around her coffee cup like it was her lifeline. "You owe me food, you know. And not cheap food; I expect _fantastic_ takeout. You can pick the ethnicity."

Blaine rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers on the door frame. "And what if I told you that I didn't have any cash on me?"

"I would tell you to break out your credit card, because believe me, you are _paying _for getting me up at ungodly hours _two days in a row_ to dish about some _guy_ you met through a phone-swapping mishap." Tyler shrugged. "Now go. I want Thai food!"

"I thought you said _I _picked the ethnicity?"

Tyler scrunched her nose, but for once she didn't argue with his logic. "You can't take my word for anything - I'm half asleep right now. Oh! If you get home and I'm gone, it's because I'm shopping. My goods shoes are falling apart."

"You mean your only shoes?"

"Screw you. Now go knock the socks off this guy." And with that, Tyler literally _shoved_ him out the door and locked it behind him. Blaine laughed and started down the stairs, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. He didn't care that Tyler had basically just kicked him out temporarily. That was how their relationship worked. They were pretty much desensitized to each other.

He said hello to a few of his scattered neighbors on the way down, stopping once to study a fall wreath that someone had put on their door. He might have to get one that was similar for the holiday season; Cooper was coming by this year, and frankly, he just needed something to get back at Tyler for the _God awful _cat statue that was currently taking up space on the shelf in their living room.

After the small detour, he made it down to the street and managed to hail a cab with the help of some overly flamboyant waving and whistling (perhaps the guy in the car had just pulled over so he could get Blaine's sorry ass off of the street), but he didn't mind since it worked. He pulled out Kurt's phone and looked at the address he had texted him. It was to a cafe closer to the theatre district of the city. He'd been there before actually, approved of the food, the dessert...but he preferred the homeliness of his usual crawls.

Blaine arrived at the cafe after a very interesting drive. The cabbie was quite...verbal in his distaste for his fellow New York drivers. He swore more than was necessary, and instead of making light conversation as most drivers did, he seemed to pretend Blaine didn't exist, which made the experience just that much more awkward.

Needless to say, Blaine's feelings were reflected greatly in his tip. He gave the driver an empty thank you and climbed out of the cab.

The restaurant hadn't changed much since he'd last been there - a little over six months before - after he saw Wicked on the Gershwin stage for the first time. He still remembered the musical vividly - Elphaba had been portrayed by a cheeky girl with a voice big enough to swallow the city. She was new, but the show had been better than he'd ever seen it. (But of course, there was only so much a travelling crew had to work with in the middle of Ohio).

He let his eyes sweep across the room, shaking his head at the silliness of all this. He felt like a secret agent, meeting up with someone he'd never met a day before in his life to swap technological devices. That feeling had only been amplified in the cab when Kurt texted to look for a guy in a blue hat, as if that was totally uncomm-

_Holyfuckingshit_.

There was a guy sitting in the corner with an electric shock colored fedora propped precariously on his head. But that wasn't even the worst part.

The guy sitting at the table was Kurt Hummel.

Blaine wanted to die. No, correction. He wanted to fling himself off the top of a building and land in a pile of cushy fluffy softness, because he _knew _that this had to be a dream. Or a coincidence.

But as he looked around the cafe, he saw that not only were there no blue hats, but the people that were sporting headwear were women. And besides, who was he kidding? He'd been texting a guy named Kurt, and well, that wasn't exactly the most popular name in the spectrum. He took a deep breath and walked over to Kurt Hummel's table.

"Hi, are you Kurt?" He asked. _Stupid, stupid_, he thought. _Everyone knows his name, I know his name! And he's the goddamned _best _looking guy I have ever seen and..._

He stopped himself right there, knowing he'd hyperventilate. Thankfully, none of this seemed to register on his face. Kurt looked up and smiled brightly.

"Yeah, I am. You're Blaine?" Kurt asked simply, already assuming the answer was yes and gesturing for Blaine to sit down.

Good God, Blaine's name sounded pretty freaking amazing coming from Kurt's mouth. He nodded slowly and sat down as directed, pulling Kurt's phone out of his pocket and setting it on the table. "First thing's first, I guess."

Kurt grinned and did the same with Blaine's, and soon both men had their respective cellular devices in their hands. Blaine used the opportunity to shoot a quick text to Tyler.

**To Tyler: Hey!**

The response was almost immediate, and Blaine had to roll his eyes at her innate snark.

**From Tyler: Hey Sweetums, I trust this means you've brought your phone back to the hellhole known as your texting skills!**

"Who's that?" Kurt questioned, craning his neck to see the screen of Blaine's phone.

"Tyler," Blaine said, without much enthusiasm. "She's my-"

"Girlfriend?"

Blaine's eyes widened, but he explained himself why he typed out Tyler's reply. "No, _God_ no. She's my sister. Besides, I'm gay."

**To Tyler: i am sitting in a restaurant with KURT HUMMEL right now, thank you very much.**

"You're gay?" Kurt seemed a little confused, but Blaine didn't mind. A lot of people automatically assumed he was straight, simply because he didn't _appear _gay.

"Very," Blaine responded, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. "If it helps the bigger picture, I almost had a heart attack when I realized that you had my phone. Not many straight guys can say that, huh?"

"Fan of Broadway?" though Blaine wasn't looking up, he could _hear_ the smirk growing across Kurt's face.

Blaine nodded. His phone buzzed. "Yeah, I am. It's actually kind of sad, really. I know more about a _lot_ of different musicals than I should."

**From Tyler: HOLY FUCK WHY DO I ALWAYS LEAVE BEFORE THE GOOD STUFF HAPPENS? where are you?**

Blaine knew he'd catch a lot of crap, but he didn't tell her. That would be rude, and he didn't want Kurt to feel like he was a crazed fan. Because while he acknowledged the fact that Kurt Hummel was possible the most _amazing_ person on the face of the planet, he didn't just _tell_ everyone he knew where he was when he met someone important.

"That's not a _bad_ thing," Kurt insisted. "That's how I am. I know 'too much'." he shrugged.

**From Tyler: Screw you, then!**

Blaine sighed softly. He returned his phone to his pocket and decided he wasn't going to check it, no matter how many times it buzzed or rang. "I told Tyler I was having lunch, and she asked where. I didn't tell her, and now she's being stubborn."

Kurt laughed. "That's fine. I have a friend like that. She's a little crazy, but I've known her since grade school, so I can't exactly get rid of her. Besides, she got me back on the 'Broadway Bound' track, so I owe her."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I came to New York with every intention of performing. I went to college for it, went to auditions. _Then_ I realized I wanted to be part of the fashion industry. And I was, too. I had an internship with _Vogue_ for about a year, and a couple of my pieces were featured. But about a year ago, I went with her to one of her auditions, and the guy in the audience was working with a new idea on the side, and thought I was perfect." Kurt explained. "So here I am. I don't know if I'll do this forever, you know. I do love performing, but fashion is something I've always loved equally. I suppose if I get successful enough, I could try both."

Blaine grinned. "So you owe her?"

Kurt's lip lifted up. "Just a little bit."

~o0o~

**From Tyler: Please tell me where you're having lunch?**

**From Tyler: please?**

**From Tyler: I want to meet Mr. Pretty Boy!**

**From Tyler: COME ON THIS ISN'T FAIR?**

**From Tyler: Are you having sex with him?**

**From Tyler: Is that why you aren't answering?**

**From Tyler: Make him scream, Blainers!**

**From Tyler: OH MY GOD YOU ARE FUCKING HIM AREN'T YOU?**

**From Tyler: No, you're not. I take that back.**

**From Tyler: Blaine Anderson doesn't have that kind of game.**

**From Tyler: You know, you can answer any time now.**

**From Tyler: It's not like I have anything better to do.**

**From Tyler: I only just went to Bloomingdales and bought you some new clothes. Even that jacket you've been wanting.**

**From Tyler: Cuz i'm just that nice.**

**From Tyler: You know what? I give up. I'm taking a nap.**

**From Tyler: If I die in my sleep, it's your fault just remember that.**

**From Tyler: Fuck you.**

**End notes**: Hope you liked. Incase you didn't get this, they have each other's phones in this chapter, so when it says From Blaine, that means it's from Kurt and vice versa.

Reviews are appreciated!


	4. Welcome Home

**First of all the chapter name really has nothing to do with the contents. Secondly, this chapter doesn't really go anywhere and I did a half assed job with the revising and I'm not at all happy with it. Third, I'm just trying to get this posted because I'm trying to get to a point where I can write easily for a deadline so just put up with me until I get used to it please!**

Welcome Home

"You were great tonight, Kurt." Burt Hummel clapped Kurt on the shoulder, and Kurt couldn't help but jump at the sudden impact.

_You say that every time. I do the _same thing. _Every time. Please, just...stop or something. _Kurt begged silently. But he just nodded at his father in thanks before gathering up his sketch book materials and walking into the living room. He couldn't help but feel smothered. He knew he should be grateful that his parents were supportive, as not everyone had that, but he just..._couldn't_ be. New York had been about him coming to the city and gaining a few shreds of independence. With his dad and Carole here every couple weeks, he felt like he was losing that. And to be twenty-seven and losing your independence? Not cool.

"What're you drawing?" Carole asked, looking up from the book she was reading. She looked quite comfortable from her position in the armchair in the corner, a book tucked in the crook of her arm. Kurt smiled brightly. He didn't often get asked about his artwork; it didn't have to do with work anymore, and Rachel never was that interested in fashion (if her regular choice in clothing was any indication). He set down his pencils and took his sketch pad over to Carole and sat in the chair opposite of her.

She looked over the mannequin he'd been drawing carefully, and then raised her eyebrow in questioning. "Who's this?"

Kurt's breath hitched in his throat, and when he spoke, he slapped his proverbial vocal cords for tightening and sending his voice up a few decibels in the perfect neon sign for _Dead Giveaway_. Because, _oh yeah_, he _had _come home and designed his mystery phone holder an outfit. "No one."

"Looks a little too detailed to be no one. Come on, Kurt," Carole said pleadingly. She closed her book and handed back the sketch pad. She rested her chin on her elbow and leaned forward. There was a mischevious glint in her eyes that Kurt hadn't seen in a _long_ time, not since Dave.

_Ouch._ It certainly still hurt to think about him.

"So?" Carole prompted again, breaking Kurt out of his thoughts.

"Oh. Um. So, I guess I kind of met a guy."

As if on cue, Kurt's father stood up from his place on the sofa and walked in the direction of the guest room, obviously not wanting to hear the conversation. Kurt didn't blame him. He remembered "The Talk" from all those years ago, and about half of it didn't apply anymore. All bets were off; Kurt wasn't a teen anymore, and if he was in a relationship, there was no reason for him not to have sex. Bad mental images were probably what prompted Burt's leaving.

Carole, on the other hand, didn't have the same reservations. She laughed giddily and squealed. "I knew it. So, dish. What's he like?"

"Well, we just met in person yesterday," Kurt explained. "You know how I called from a weird number when I was on my way to the airport the other day? That's because Rachel and I went out drinking, and I bumped into a guy at the bar. Both of us were holding our cell phones, and we accidentally swapped, and yesterday we met for lunch so we could swap back, and he's _really_ cute. Like...I don't know how to explain it. And he's such a doofus, but he manages to be serious at the same time, and he's really, _really_ funny..."

"He sounds nice. What's his name?" Carole asked quickly, seeming to understand that if she didn't stop him, Kurt would talk forever. And he hadn't even said that _much_ yet. There was so much more to say, and yeah, he couldn't articulate about half of it, but still.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed, liking the way the name sounded on his tongue. In truth, that's what prompted him clearing his lunch schedule - though he'd never admit to such a feat - for the day. The name just...stuck in his head. Fit, somehow. He wanted to meet this guy, even though he'd been setting himself up for disappointment.

But he _hadn't_. Because Blaine had been perfect and wonderful and all together fantastic and all he could think about during the whole date - no, lunch appointment - was how much he wanted to reach across the table and hold the guy's hand. And all he'd been able to say come the end of lunch was "Hey, just because you've got your phone back doesn't mean you can't text me or whatever."

Yeah. _Real_ articulate, Kurt.

"You really like this boy, don't you?" Carole said, waggling her eyebrows just slightly.

"Huh?" Kurt replied, rubbing his thumb over the cover of his sketchbook absentmindedly.

"You zoned out for a minute. Thinking about him?"

Kurt sighed, exasperated. "How'd you know?"

"I was the same way when I met your father," she grinned. In truth, Kurt couldn't imagine anyone having romantic, fuzzy feelings towards his dad, but it was the sentiment that counted.

"The thing is, though, I don't know what to-"

"Kurt, pull your head out of your ass for a second and call the guy, okay?" Carole exclaimed.

Kurt's jaw hit the floor in surprise. His stepmother was never usually so forward with him. But then again, he never usually talked to Carole about boys. "What?" he said, still a little too stunned to manage anything else. He blinked a few times before Carole got around to answering.

"Call him, Sweetheart. The worst he can say is no. But I doubt he would. You're available, cute, you're kind and caring, and you're on Broadway, for God's sake. Who _wouldn't _date you?"

Kurt felt flustered. There was a soft yell from somewhere in the back of his head, one he recognized quite well. He pushed it out of his mind, not wanting to dwell too much on his past at the moment. Especially not _that_ part. "The Broadway part is what I'm worried about."

Carole sighed and reached out a hand to pat Kurt on the shoulder. "Not every guy out there is evil, Honey. Win some, lose some, y'know? I know you've had some bad experience with dating, but you _do _have to break out of your shell at some point."

"Besides, he's not even interested. I dropped a few hints at lunch," _no I didn't, just making excuses,_ "and nothing. So..."

"Just do it," Carole said plainly.

Kurt shrugged. He was _so _ready for this conversation to be _over_. "Maybe I'll call him tomorrow."

Carole knew well enough to leave him alone.

But she also knew that he _wouldn't _call him.

~o0o~

_"Hey Blaine, it's Kurt. Look, I was wondering if you would maybe...like to have dinner with me tonight? I hope I'm not being too forward. Just hanging out with you at lunch was really enjoyable and I want to get to know you better. And what better way to do that than dinner? Call me back if you're interested!"_

Kurt listened to the message again, wondering how he could have been so stupid to have said something like that. A dinner date? Was "getting to know you better" even worthy of a dinner date? Kurt didn't know, but he was pretty sure it _wasn't_, and that whoever listened to the message would find it extremely hilarious.

And why couldn't he have just asked Blaine out straight? _Hey, I really like you and this may be a little weird but would you consider going out on a date with me? _There. How hard was that?

He was about to contemplate throwing himself off of a building when his phone rang. He picked it up and answered without checking caller I.D. "Hello? Oh, hi...Blaine."

~o0o~

"Hey, Kurt, how are you? I got your message." Blaine said. He drummed his fingers on the table in the coffee shop, looking out the window at all the people passing by. He saw someone with an expensive bag he'd seen in _Vogue_, and it made him want to drool.

"_Oh, you did? So what do you say?"_

"I'd love that," Blaine said. "But I have to ask. And it's…it's okay if that's not the case, but I was wondering."

"_Sure, what?"_

"Is this supposed to be a date?"

There was a long pause, and Blaine was afraid he might just hang up. He sat there, sipping on his coffee, deciding he wasn't going to be the one to hang up. But then Kurt spoke, his voice shaking just a little bit. _"Yeah. It can be, if you'd like."_

Blaine's heart jumped into his throat. "I would. A lot."

"_Great. Pick you up at seven? You're going to have to text me the address."_ Kurt still sounded a little flustered, but it was less prominent. Like he'd jumped the hurdle and there wasn't much else to worry about anymore.

"Deal."

_I'm going on a date with Kurt Hummel. Tyler'll never believe me._

~o0o~

Shockingly, Tyler was fairly chill about the whole thing, in her own way. In fact, she wasn't so much as surprised.

"What would you say if I told you I was going on a date tonight?" Blaine asked, coming out of his bedroom. His question was directed at Tyler, who was currently sprawled out on the couch in her work attire, like she was just waiting for an excuse to get up. Even though she was the only person Blaine could have spoken to, she pretended not to notice him for several seconds.

Slowly, she cracked one of her eyes open and squinted at Blaine. "With Hummel?"

Blaine nodded slowly. The thought made his stomach churn, but there was no question this was reality. "With Kurt."

"And you want to know what I think." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"As your sister."

"And my roommate."

Tyler took in a deep breath of air and sat up, using her elbows as a way to prop herself up. "Okay, here goes. And I'm going to be very frank. Understand?"

Blaine nodded.

"Fuck him all you want. Just do it at his place so I don't have to listen to your incessant moaning. And I swear to God, if I wake up one day, and he's just here, using our towels and eating our food and being altogether intrusive or disgusting, I will strangle you."

"We're not..."

"For now. For now you're not." Tyler insisted. "You haven't been in a legitimate relationship since Sebbie," she pointed out, using that annoying nickname. It always seemed to get on everyone's nerves except Sebastian's, but she did it anyway even though it was clear her motive was to get to him. "And I'm not even sure if that qualifies as a _legitimate_. Trust me. Kiss him once, and you two'll be groping like nobody's business."

"Don't talk about Sebastian," Blaine said half-heartedly. He didn't want to think about the jerk right now, not when he had so many good things going on for him. Sebastian always put him in a bad mood, no matter if in spirit or in person. "He even cared about _lacrosse _more than me. Ugh. Don't get me started."

"Ah, lacrosse. The one thing I used to love, tainted by such a pretentious douche bag." Tyler observed. "I regret that I had to have that in common with him."

"You and your morals," Blaine sighed. "Besides, it's just one date. If things don't work out, well then…"

"Don't pretend you don't want to hit that," Tyler said.

"He just wants to get to know me, and like I said, it might not work out. It doesn't matter what I want." Blaine explained. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. He spoke quickly as he turned around and went towards his bedroom."Kurt's picking me up at seven. If I'm not in the room when he knocks, _don't_ scare him."

"I don't scare people!" Tyler said, shooting up from her position on the couch.

"Not intentionally," Blaine muttered as he shut his bedroom door behind him.

~o0o~

Kurt arrived at Blaine's apartment ten minutes shy of the appointed time, and that just added to the sinking, nervous feeling he had in his stomach.

_When was the last time I got keyed up over a date? _Kurt shook his head. He followed Blaine's directions up to the apartment (_level five, apartment 24. It'll be the one with the black scuff down the front of the door_), and stopped himself short from knocking. He didn't want to freak out, wasn't trying to, but all the sudden everything that could go wrong was playing out in his head.

He got as far as Blaine being a serial killer before he gave up trying to calm down and just knocked. Almost immediately, there was a loud "I'll get it", followed by a series of crashes and bangs before the door swung open.

Before him stood a girl that was probably no taller than 5'4", with wild curly red hair and the exact same shade of eyes that Blaine had, but without all the warm compassion and dorkiness blended in. Her name was...Tyler, if his memory served him right. Tyler _Anderson_. And suddenly he remembered that he knew her.

"You went to NYADA!" he blurted. _Yeah, _real _nice. Real polite to just say something like that, no introductions or anything..._

"Yeah," Tyler said cautiously. "Why?"

"I think you were in one of my classes," Kurt said. "You were _really_ good. I think you just freaked the professors out a bit."

Tyler smiled and gestured for Kurt to come inside. "You remember all that?"

Kurt had to fight a blush. "It helps when you have the image of someone streaking across campus burned into your skull." he took a moment to look around the apartment, hoping that would hold the horrible memory at bay. Lightly furnished, but not _badly_ so that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The kitchen was the worst by far - linoleum flooring, wood accented counter tops...Kurt bit back a shutter.

"Oh. My. _God_." Tyler's eyes widened, and she gripped the ledge of the counter like she'd been caught off guard. "You...oh my..._you_ saw that? That was...that was a drunken attempt to make a last impression before I graduated!"

"Yep, I saw." Kurt said slowly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"Shouldn't have said anything..." Tyler shook her head, taking deep breaths. "No, don't worry. I just haven't thought about that in _years. _You just surprised me, is all." her face was still a little red, and she was shaking, but she was starting to look a little more sane.

"Hey Tyler, was that Kurt that I hea-" Blaine walked out of the bathroom, stopping dead when he saw that his sister was having what appeared to be a mental breakdown. Kurt looked at him and shrugged. Blaine nodded and came into the kitchen, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Tyler, what happened?"

"Nothing of your concern!" she squealed before running back to her room. "Enjoy your date!"

Blaine raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "So. Sorry about her."

"No, she didn't actually say anything. That was all me." Kurt admitted. He felt kind of bad for bringing up something that was obviously very embarrassing, but it was what he remembered the most about the girl.

"Oh, okay. So, what's the plan?" Blaine asked. He looked like he felt a little awkward about the whole situation, like it felt a little informal. Kurt totally understood - he'd been let into this guy's apartment by a sibling that streaked in college and was a little overwhelming to be around.

"I figured I'd buy you dinner, since you insisted on paying for lunch yesterday," Kurt said. "You ready to go?"

The question, in Kurt's opinion was unneeded. Blaine cleaned up nicely; the day before, Kurt now knew that he probably hadn't thought much of going to lunch to get his phone back. Today, his hair was styled nicely, and though Kurt was standing a few feet away, Kurt imagined that he smelled _awesome._

_Stop thinking about stuff like that, Kurt. You can hold off until he's your boyfriend, can't you?_

_Wait, what?_

_When he's your_ boyfriend_?_

Kurt pinched the back of his leg, trying to get himself to stop thinking stupid things.

"Yeah, I'm great. Come on, let's go."

Kurt prayed to _God_ (for the first time in forever, mind you), that he didn't say anything incriminating on the date. He didn't want to make a bad second impression.

Kurt nodded and showed Blaine downstairs to the cab that was waiting for them.

**End Notes: Yeah. Sucky chapter. I know. Half of it doesn't make sense and it's more just a chapter that showcases Kurt being whiny which I don't really like, but I really need to train myself to write. **

**I suppose next chapter you'll be getting flashbacks from the date.**

**Inform me of my suckage and review!**


	5. It's a Lot Like Lightning

**Notes**: Thanks so much to _**Rachiefish**_ for being a brilliant beta (shameless plugging), and this might seem a little out of the blue, but it's important to the story line, and besides, these things always are, aren't they?

It's a Lot Like Lightning

_Sorry Kurt, I've got to take this._

_I've got to take this._

_The phone call. Why did you answer it?_

~o0o~

"Hello?"

"_Blaine, it's Tyler. Mom just called me."_

"What?"

"_Mom called me. Dad was in a car accident, Blaine. A bad one. You need to meet me at JFK, okay? I'm on standby right now, and if you get here quickly enough, we can get on the same flight. I threw some stuff in a bag for you and gave the cat to the neighbors. I hope you don't mind plaid. Blaine. Blaine? Say something."_

Blaine left. He didn't even tell Kurt where he was going.

~o0o~

The plane ride was the worst. He wasn't about to pay the ridiculous fee for the satellite phone, so he couldn't call his mother. Tyler sat in the same position the entire flight, silent with her hands clamped tightly around the edges of the arm rests. She never stopped looking out the window. Blaine knew she wasn't going to admit it, but it was hitting her hard.

They'd both had bad relationships with their parents, sure, but what kind of people would they be if they didn't secretly hope for some sort of reconciliation? Cutting ties with your family was one thing, but not having them to fall back on _at all_? That wasn't something either of them was looking forward to.

"Sir, would you like something to drink?"

Blaine blinked and turned to face to flight attendant that was standing next to him with the drink cart. At that moment, there was nothing he wanted _less_ than a little plastic cup that only held a fourth of a can of soda. No, what he wanted was more along the lines of an entire bottle of tequila. "No thanks."

The flight attendant nodded her head at Tyler. "What about her?"

"Nothing for her either. Thanks, though."

The cart was pulled forward, and Blaine settled back in his seat, looking at the book poking out of his bag on the floor. Tyler had probably pulled if off her desk when she was packing, an afterthought for keeping them both busy on the plane. He had no interest in reading, though, and started counting the colored dots on the back of the chair in front of him.

"Do you think Dad's just going to make us leave?" Tyler said suddenly, catching Blaine off guard. "I mean, he cut us out. He made it obvious he didn't want to talk to us anymore."

Blaine shrugged. He didn't want to get into any sort of serious conversation; that would just make everything seem so much…_more_, to him. Overbearing, stressful…he couldn't think of the right word. "I don't know."

He didn't mention the fact that their father might not be well enough to say anything to them at all.

~o0o~

"That _asshole_!" Kurt screamed, barreling into Rachel's apartment as soon as she opened the latch. He was fuming. How could Blaine just _do_ something like that? That rude, self-centered, _ignorant_ little bastard. _Who the hell does he think he is, fucking with me like that? I swear to God…_

"What the _hell_, Kurt?" Rachel stepped to the side just in time, hands flung up in surprise. She closed the door and walked over to him. If there was one thing that she knew about Kurt, it was that he didn't just do things like that regularly. There had to be something wrong. She studied him for a second, his uneven breath, his frown, his watering eyes… "Kurt, are you _crying_?"

"He _left_, Rachel. We went on a date and he left. Went to take a phone call and never came back. Who does that?" Kurt said. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to hold back the irritation he was feeling. "Do you have beer or something? I need a drink."

"Was his phone really ringing?" Rachel prodded, walking back towards her kitchen to get Kurt a glass of wine. Kurt followed at her heels, taking a seat at the half-wall behind the sink. Rachel poured the wine and slid it across the counter.

Once Kurt had the glass in his hand, he nodded. "Yeah? But what does that matter?"

"You're really not getting this?" Rachel stood with her arms crossed, watching as Kurt sipped his wine, seemingly oblivious. Kurt read too much into things often, and sometimes Rachel couldn't tell if it was because he was legitimately _clueless_, or because he just didn't want to deal with anything.

Kurt shook his head and downed the rest of his drink. Truth be told, the wine wasn't helping – it hadn't been all night. More than anything, it was calming him down enough not to punch a hole in a wall. He stood up and poured himself another glass, bringing the bottle back to his seat with him. "No."

"Something important may have come up! Kurt, you can't just assume…"

"I _can_, Rachel. You _know_ how many dates I've been on in the last year. And all of them have ended the same way – the guy skipping out on me before the end of the date, making some excuse, and y'know, I thought Blaine was different, but I was obviously _wrong_." Kurt's voice grew increasingly bitter as he spoke, and he couldn't help but catch the irony. All the names Puck used to call him in college (namely when he refused to talk about his sex life) were finally catching up with him. It had been a long time since he'd considered seriously dating. He'd only gone on those dates to appease Rachel. But when he'd met Blaine, he'd suddenly felt himself wanting to get out there again, prodding unnecessary.

And then Blaine threw it all back in his face.

It wasn't _fair_.

"Stop being so dramatic," Rachel sighed.

"Oh, like _you're_ one to talk. You're the one who can't talk to her ex-boyfriend - the guy who's been her ex for _nine years_ now, I might add. 'Oh, no, I'm dating _Aaron_ now; Finn would be so upset if he knew! I can't have that conversation with him! If I talk to him, we might end up making out, and I don't want that because _Aaron_ is the next Brad Pitt!' It's so stupid! How much longer are you going to ignore him? _Another_ nine years? To hell with it! Just break up with Aaron already and sleep with my brother like we all know you want to!" Kurt was about to take another drink when Rachel snatched the glass out of his hand.

"Kurt! What the hell?"

"Oh please, there was _so much_ sexual tension in the room when I finally dragged you to my parents' house for the holidays last year!"

"What? That's not even the point, just…how much did you drink before you _got_ here?" Rachel said, her voice tinted with anger.

Kurt shrugged. He didn't remember. When he realized Blaine was gone, he'd just paid the bill and walked over to the bar, like he was trying to hide from the embarrassment of everything. He remembered maybe drinking until they closed, but his memory was too fuzzy to be sure…

"I'm cutting you off. Just…sleep on the couch and we can talk in the morning." Rachel waved her hand in the general direction of her living room.

"Oh, how the tables have turned," Kurt remarked sourly.

"Shut the fuck up before I think better of myself and make you sleep in the dumpster out back." Rachel stormed into her bedroom, leaving Kurt to stare at her ugly brown sofa. And the worst part was that she'd taken the wine with her. _Great_.

~o0o~

"Mom!" Blaine entered the hospital's level three waiting room, hand intertwined with Tyler's. Emily Anderson was sitting in the corner, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. Blaine hadn't seen her do that in _years_, even before he'd left – it was something she had always done after a fight with Dad, and as far as Blaine could see, they were doing really well as a married couple.

Emily's head flung up, and her face softened immediately. "Blaine, Tyler!" she stood up and ran over, enveloping the twins in a warm hug that made Blaine feel more awkward than anything. "It's been so long, I'm sorry…"

_It's funny_, Blaine thought,_ how a traumatic experience can make you rethink every decision you've made in you life_. He didn't know what to think of his mother being apologetic. In some ways, he resented her actions more than his father's, simply because she didn't do anything. She stood by and watched stuff happen, and Blaine knew she was perfectly capable of calling their father out. He'd seen it.

He didn't voice his opinion, though. Now was not the time to stir the pot. He just stood there and let himself be hugged by a woman he hadn't spoken to in nearly eight years.

~o0o~

Kurt woke up the next morning with a killer headache. No matter how much he tried to ignore the fact, this was becoming a common theme: Rachel – or in this case, his anger-riddled mind – would take him out drinking, and then he'd crash.

He sat up and rolled his neck a few times to get rid of the crick, and looked around. He was in Rachel's apartment. He remembered getting there, and then bitching her out.

_Crap_, Kurt groaned.

"Sleeping Beauty awakes, I see," Rachel said, poking her head out of her bedroom before pulling her robe from the hook inside the door and walking out.

"Rachel, I'm so sor–"

"Save it. It's not my fault you're a pissy drunk," she said. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Water and Advil. With lots and lots of Advil."

"Pancakes it is. Want to talk about it?" Rachel said offhandedly as she walked into the kitchen. Kurt liked that about her – as long as she wasn't talking about herself, she made everything seem so simple. It made it easier to talk to her about the heavy stuff.

Kurt shrugged and followed her, watching her take a pan out of a cabinet. "I don't know. It made me feel terrible, and I don't know why. None of the other dates…it hadn't seemed like a big deal then, but with _Blaine_…" he sighed. "I _really_ liked him. So I guess I just felt twice as stupid for getting my hopes up."

"Don't forget; you still haven't heard his side of the story," Rachel said. She pulled a bag of flour out of the tiny pantry and started spooning it into a bowl. "That's always a key element."

"You sure?" Kurt said somewhat jokingly as he sat down at Rachel's small kitchen table.

"Positive. I don't know if I've ever told you this, but I am a relationship _guru_."

"As if. How many relationships have you been in since Finn? Two? I'm not sure that guy you used to befoul my guest bedroom even counts." Kurt muttered. This was just what he needed – a mindless morning of back and forth bickering and Rachel's pancakes. (They were _fantastic_, by the way. He didn't see Rachel as someone who could cook, but _damn_ did she make good comfort food. More evidence against her being a relationship "guru").

Rachel scoffed as she stirred. "Hey, he and I had something special!"

"You're just saying that to make yourself feel less like a slut."

"Am not!"

"Oh yeah? What was his name?"

Kurt earned a face-full of flower for that one.

~o0o~

There was something infinitely oppressive about hospital waiting rooms.

Blaine had been too tired, too spent to notice it the night before, but it was blatantly obvious now. All the furniture was the same disgustingly ugly brown, and there was almost always someone crying, whether it be from stress, or a doctor coming to tell them that their family member just got moved to ICU. It even _smelled _depressing, too. Like the inside of a doctors' office, multiplied by ten. He felt like his nostrils were being assaulted by the scent of Popsicle sticks and anti-bacterial spray.

What did he do to keep his mind off all of that? He talked to his mom.

"Is Cooper coming?" Blaine asked. He could always count on Cooper to show up when it was planned – Christmas, birthdays…but in-between holidays and such, he really never put much thought to where he travelled.

"No, he's in Europe right now. Some job opportunity, I guess," Emily shrugged. "But he's been calling every few hours."

Blaine nodded, but didn't say anything.

"So, Tyler told me you were out on a date when I called," Emily started warily. She clutched a coffee cup tightly and smiled. It was very obvious she was just trying to make light conversation so that she didn't have to think about what could be going on with her husband. They'd had to pull him in for surgery that morning, and Blaine could tell she was about to start wigging out.

"A date?" Blaine blinked. Suddenly, it all came rushing back to him. He'd just left the restaurant without a word to Kurt. He hadn't been thinking straight enough to mention that a family crisis had occurred, that he needed to be on a plane within the next hour. _Shit, I need to get to my phone._

~o0o~

When Blaine finally had the time to call Kurt, it was nearly four o'clock. His father had gotten out of surgery, and everything seemed like it was going to be okay. He had even held a slightly one-sided (because of the morphine drip), conversation with his father that didn't end in him contemplating what was the best area in the city to jump off a building.

"Kurt, hi, it's Blaine. Sorry about last night, listen, I–"

"_Look, whatever it is, I don't want to hear about it right now. I'm still kind of bummed about it. See you around, Blaine." _The line went dead.

"Dammit!" Blaine said, dropping his phone on the seat next to him. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying not to cause a scene in the waiting room. He knew if he let himself, he'd lose it. He felt terrible – he should have told Kurt what was going on. But _no_, he had to do the stupid thing and just leave. Like stopping by the table on his way out of the restaurant would have extended his E.T.A at the airport by more than a couple minutes.

"He didn't pick up?" Tyler returned from her trip to the coffee maker (if what it made could be considered coffee). She sat down across from where Blaine stood, her legs crossed and her face twisted in a way that made Blaine want to punch her for acting nonchalant.

"No, he picked up. But he cut me off and hung up before I could explain. And I don't blame him for it, either." Blaine sighed. "I know how it looks from his side. He probably felt so stupid."

"Blaine?"

It was their mother, coming out from the double doors. She was wringing her hands together, and Blaine's stomach dropped. That meant bad news, didn't it? It had to. _Oh God._

"Yeah?"

"Your father wants to talk to you."

_Shit._

~o0o~

**End Notes**: Sad chapter, unhappy Klaine...but it gets better, I pwomise!


	6. Time

**Notes**: Here you go! I actually wrote this within two days of getting the last chapter posted, so I've been on a roll! Thanks again to xxrachiefishxx for being practically perfect in every way, and oh! I will love anyone who can find the Friends reference here forever!

Time

"You're back." The voice was tinted with unmistakable disappointment, and perhaps the slightest bit of surprise.

Blaine sighed. "I am."

"You need to know that I'm sorry. For treating you the way I did. It shouldn't have happened."

Time to load on the sarcasm. "No, really?"

"I've been sorry for a long time, I just didn't know how to approach you about it. This just helped me to wake up about the whole thing a little clearer."

"Mmhm."

"I know it won't ever be completely right…but please, let me try to make it up to you."

"I don't know if I can."

"Give me until after Christmas."

"…Fine."

~o0o~

Time passed. Blaine had a decent conversation with his father. Tyler and Blaine went back to New York with promises of returning to Westerville in the next couple of weeks for Thanksgiving. Cooper was informed of the change in plans, and Blaine went on to feel like he was living his life in a sort of bubble.

At first after having gotten back to New York, Blaine made a point of calling Kurt every day. No one ever answered. He'd even gone to the two restaurants they'd been in together, hoping they were places that Kurt frequented. No such luck. And since Blaine had no idea where Kurt lived, he gave up. He went to work at night, crashed all day at home, and went about his business. Never mind the fact that he winced every time he saw Kurt's name on the billboard; he was doing better.

"We have to start packing, like, yesterday, you realize that?" Tyler said one afternoon, leaning against Blaine's door frame. She seemed to jump back into the Anderson family dynamic quite well, especially since Blaine had always seen her as the one most jaded. She actually looked happy to be going back. Blaine felt horrible for keeping her away for so long.

"I know that look," Tyler said, her tone annoyed. "Save it. I'm fine. I actually don't hate you. So suck it up – you're stuck with me." She came over and sat on the bed, tossing an arm around Blaine's shoulders in a way so casual that Blaine didn't expect what he heard her say next.

"If I had to do it again, I'd still pick you, if that's what you're worried about," she whispered. That statement in itself was a rabbit hole towards a conversation Blaine knew Tyler would swear never happened, but he was still grateful for the sentiment.

"Really? After everything that happened?" Blaine said. She simply nodded, leaving Blaine gaping. He was genuinely surprised to hear her say that despite that fact that she could have made her life so much easier.

When Blaine came out, his parents didn't want to believe that he could have just been born that way. And since Tyler was trying her best to be completely supportive, they used her as their scapegoat. They said her ideas of acceptance were "confusing Blaine".

She could have just stopped there, and that would have been the end of it for her. But she didn't. She got herself thrown in juvie when…

"–And Mom wants you to bring Pav, since she hasn't been around a cat in forever. She said something about it being mean to leave him with someone he's unfamiliar with."

Blaine laughed to himself, shoving down the heavy thoughts that had just been swarming through his brain. "Obviously, she doesn't realize the extent his relationship with Mrs. Henson." Pavarotti loved their next door neighbor, and Blaine was pretty sure that if he had a choice, he'd live with her. They constantly caught him trying to slink off into the next apartment whenever the door was open.

"Too bad. Apparently, she reserved an opening for him along with our plane tickets, so his kennel can sit on the floor or something, instead of us having to check him." Tyler said, patting Blaine on the shoulder before standing up and walking to his wardrobe. She swung the doors open as if she were a mother throwing the shutters open to get her kid up on the weekend. "We have two days to be ready and you're a horrendous packer. Pull out your suitcase Buddy, 'cause I'm helping whether you want me to or not."

~o0o~

"Rachel, your dads want you back in Lima!" Kurt groaned into the phone, legs crossed in the air. He was no stranger to this conversation; he had it nearly every major holiday. This time around, however, it was worse, because the Hudson-Hummels had invited the Berrys' over for Thanksgiving dinner, effectively removing any chance Rachel had of completely avoiding Finn. "As long as you act like a civilized adult and don't attempt to seduce the man, you'll be fine."

"Who said I would try–"

"Senior year. Before Westside story. If you tried it then as a notorious prude, you'd do it now. Listen, lady, don't test my patience. I have to finish packing and figure out my game plan for food. I don't have the time to get anything resized before my next show, so I can't gain any weight. If I get to your apartment tomorrow and find out that you're not packed, I might just have to kill you." Kurt hung up on Rachel before she could protest and set about figuring out where he'd make room for his hairspray. If there was anything he hated above all else when it came to traveling, it was that he couldn't put the majority of his hair-care products in his carryon.

After a lot of rearranging, Kurt managed to spread all of his things between the two bags he was allowing himself (because he'd been called out on excessive amounts of luggage before and was never going down that road again, thank you very much) in such a way that airport security would have no reason to think he was a terrorist. He seated himself on the couch with a cup of coffee, feeling accomplished. He always felt so organized after he had packed for a trip of any kind, simply because any laundry that had been lying around immediately disappeared into his suitcase along with his set of spare toiletries.

He had to remind himself that in a weeks' time, the place would look like a crude model of a city bombing while he tried to put everything away.

His phone buzzed next to him, and he picked it up, surprised to see Blaine's name blaring across the screen. It seemed as if Blaine had given up on calling a couple weeks back. Perhaps this was a last ditch effort? Whatever the reason, Kurt didn't want to care. He pressed decline, but couldn't bring himself to look away from the phone.

Part of him wondered if he was being too harsh about the whole ordeal. Of course, he wanted to pick up the phone whenever Blaine called and tell him to drag himself over so he could kiss him senseless and forgive him, but if Kurt did that with every guy he thought looked kissable, where would that put him? Nowhere important.

Which is why he couldn't let himself go running back to a guy who'd just dumped him in a restaurant.

In truth, his logic was a little messy. It was backwards. And hell, sometimes even he didn't understand it himself. But he had been using said logic since…well, since forever, and he turned out just fine. (This is the part where he knew Rachel would throw her head back and laugh).

With a shake of the head, he dropped his cell phone onto the cushion next to him and went back to sipping his coffee.

~o0o~

When Blaine entered his childhood household for the second time that year (he made a mental note not to make a habit out of counting), he was immediately accosted by his older brother.

"Blaine! I haven't seen you since January!" was the only warning he received as he was pulled into a death grip of a hug and asked so many questions so quickly that he barely had time to take breath between each reply. He was thankful for having already released the cat into the house.

"Gerof 'e!" Blaine's voice was muffled as he struggled to get away. Cooper finally released him, and Blaine stumbled back a few feet into his sister. This was one of those moments where Blaine was once again reminded of the domino effect, because he was soon on the floor tangled around Tyler.

She scrambled to her feet and pulled Blaine to his before swiveling around and giving Cooper one of those glares that Blaine was glad to not be on the receiving of end for once. "Cooper Anderson! You better cut it out right now or I swear to fucking God–"

There was a small gasp at the door from their mother, and Blaine couldn't decide if it was because Tyler had said "fuck", or because she'd said it right before she had said "God". Probably both.

"Tyler! Don't just say things like that! It's New York, isn't it? You're turning into one of those people that are nasty to you when you bump into them on the street, aren't you? Darling, why don't you come help me while your father helps Blaine get situated? I'm making brownies, that'll help you relax…" she brushed passed Blaine and grabbed Tyler by the arm. Tyler shot Blaine a help me sort of look before disappearing into the kitchen.

Blaine snickered, not because of Tyler's pain, but because their mother had hit the nail on the head when she asked if Tyler was one of those grouchy street walkers. The he looked at Cooper. "You realize that now she's been granted access to the kitchen, she's just going to sneak into your room tonight with a knife and stab you."

"Has she tried that with you?" Cooper said with a smirk, though Blaine could tell he was actually curious.

"No, she likes me. I buy her food and let her coexist in my apartment."

"Good to know."

"Blaine, can you help me take the suitcases upstairs? I'm still not supposed to lift heavy things for a while…" Blaine's father asked from where he stood at the foot of the stairs. Blaine nodded and picked up Tyler's suitcase (the bigger of the two, because it was the one they checked whenever they went out of town together), and started lugging it up the stairs. Come to think of it, Blaine thought, lugging is a good word. Because it's called luggage. Ha!

He left Tyler's suitcase by the attic stairs, where her room was. Teenage Tyler had been what a lot of people would call reclusive, and when his dad carpeted the attic, she had nearly gotten down on her knees and begged him to let her move all her things up there. It was a long and pitiful argument that lasted about a week before he caved, and Tyler was thrilled. Obviously, she hadn't been thinking about the repercussions for her twenty-six-year-old self, because Blaine wasn't about to carry the suitcase up there for her. He chuckled to himself and followed his father back down the hallway.

Blaine's old bedroom looked like it had been left untouched, which surprised him. He had fully expected it to have been refurnished as a guest bedroom, and for his dad to say, "Hey, we would have given you back all your stuff, but the garage flooded and we used the boxes to block out the water." But here he was, looking at the same room he'd left all those years ago. Nobody had even bothered to take down the poster of Tom Felton tacked to the wall across from his bed. He was impressed.

"Blaine, I actually wanted to talk to you for a minute," his father started, sitting on the bed.

Here we go. Kiss of death. "Really?" Blaine asked.

"Yeah. Listen. I know I said at the hospital that I want to make things right between us. And I do, so I thought I might as well start now. Tell me…tell me about New York. What's it like there?" his father shifted uncomfortably, his hands gripping the edge of the bed tightly, like he was on some sort of ride.

Blaine actually grinned at that one. "It's...it's great. There's just something about being there that's awesome. I don't even have the greatest job, or anything. I think it's just a cool place to live."

"What's your job, then?"

It was Blaine's turn to feel unsettled. He hadn't yet had a chance to discuss his source of income with either of his parents, and he had a feeling that they wouldn't be too happy about him being a bartender. "Tyler and I…we actually share a shift at a night club, serving drinks and stuff. But that's just while she's looking for auditions and I'm trying to find a job teaching." Stretching the truth a bit, but that's okay. You can do that. Worse comes to worst, you can update your résumé and hand it over as proof. No harm no foul…

But his father just nodded and said nothing.

Where am I, and when was Michael Anderson replaced by a Pod Person?

~o0o~

"I'm going shopping!" Kurt announced over his shoulder as he twisted the door knob. That one statement paired with his location made him feel like a teenager again, as he'd been in an identical position many times before.

Carole turned around from her place on the couch. "I thought you weren't going out till Friday?"

"There's no point in Black Friday shopping if you're not going to get up at four A.M., and Rachel and I agreed that I would never do that again after last year," Kurt explained, cringing at the memory of getting knocked to the ground by an absolutely crazy lady with the same preference for scarves as him. Rachel had pulled him out of the store and told him that he'd just gotten a glimpse of what he was well on his way to, and he had no choice but to agree. "I just want to pick up a few things. Contrary to popular belief, the Lima mall actually carries some things I can't get in New York."

Carole pursed her lips, thinking. "Is that why you have me send you stuff in the mail?"

"That's exactly why," Kurt nodded. He didn't like the idea of fairly valuable items getting jostled around in a box, though, which was why he was going to get as many things as he could while he was in Ohio. He turned the doorknob the rest of the way and opened the door.

"Don't forget!" Carole called as he left. "Your father wants you to stop by the shop sometime today."

"I won't, but thanks for the reminder!" Kurt said. He made his way down the iced-over driveway to his car (he left it in Lima because really, there was no point in taking it with him to the city, and he trusted his dad to keep it running smoothly while he was away) confident that his day was going to turn out to be completely, utterly normal.

~o0o~

"Sweetie, do you remember Mrs. Bea that used to live across the street from us?" Emily said when Blaine set the newspaper down on the kitchen counter.

"Yeah, of course. She used to reel me into her living room whenever you tried to make me cut the lawn and feed me cookies. Why?" Blaine smiled softly, feeling the nostalgia creep up on him.

"She runs a little yarn shop, in Lima somewhere? I have the address, but…her husband, he died last year, and I offered to let her have dinner with us today and tomorrow. She can't drive, not anymore, and she always liked you so much, so I figured you could pick her up from work and bring her back over here?" The words seemed to come out in a rush from Emily's mouth, her lips hardly forming the sounds. Blaine was stunned to hear so much information about one person in such a little time span. Runs a yarn shop. Widowed for a year. Can't drive. Liked me.

"Um…yeah. I can do that. Just write down the address or something and I'll get going. Since it's such a long drive."

Emily nodded and moved for a pen, and Blaine felt himself slipping deeper into a memory.

~o0o~

"Mr. Anderson, what a surprise! What're you doing out in this heat?"

Blaine brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked at the graying-haired woman standing on the sidewalk in front of his house. He grinned and gestured to the lawn mower. "Yard-work, I guess, Mrs. Bea. And you can call me Blaine. You make me feel like I've jumped into the Matrix when you call me Mr. Anderson."

Mrs. Bea chuckled. "You and your pop culture. Why don't you come inside for a bit? I've got lemonade in the fridge."

"I really should finish my chores, Mrs. Bea."

"But I insist!"

Well, if she insisted...

Blaine hesitated for a moment, then followed his neighbor towards her house.

~o0o~

"Shit!" Blaine groaned, resting his head against the steering wheel. He turned the key in the ignition, praying that the car would just start. He'd made it to Lima in this piece of junk; there was no way it couldn't just make it another couple blocks to the something-or-other string or yarn catastrophe of a store he was trying to get to. The engine just made a terrible churning noise.

The thought itself was terrible enough, but for once, Blaine wished he'd finished rebuilding that car with his dad.

There was a tap on glass, and Blaine turned his head to see a limber guy in a football jersey rapping his knuckles against Blaine's driver side window. "You need some help?"

Blaine rolled down the window halfway. "Yeah, actually. Do you know anywhere I could get a mechanic?"

The guy nodded enthusiastically. "There's a shop right down the road, actually. The owner, Burt, he's got a tow guy that could come drag your car over. He's like the wizard of machinery, and his son's aren't too shabby either. C'mon, I'll walk you."

Blaine reluctantly got out of his car, and feeling like he was taking – to some extent – the walk of shame, he followed the guy he didn't know down the street.

The shop, which appeared to be called Hummel Tire and Lube, if the big sign out front were any indication, seemed homely enough, definitely a small-business type of environment. He thanked the guy who'd showed him the way and went inside.

"Hi, what can I do for you?" came a gruff voice from the office behind the counter. A guy in a trucker hat and navy coveralls (both emblazoned with the company logo) emerged from the office and walked over to Blaine.

"A lot, actually; my car broke down literally just down the street," Blaine paused and replayed what he had just said in his head. "And wow that sounded ridiculously pathetic out loud. Anyway, is that something you can help me with?"

"Sure is. Where exactly is the car? My name's Burt, by the way."

Blaine filed the name away and tried to remember any land-markers. "I think I was right in front of a small park."

"Perfect. Hey, Robert!" Burt wheeled around and started yelling into the work area of the shop, and there was a sickening echo of a bang that sounded like someone hitting their head on the underside of a car.

"Yeah, Burt?"

"Kid here says his car broke down in front of the park. Go tow it while I get him to fill out paperwork, will you?"

"'Kay, on it!"

Burt turned back to Blaine. "You mind following me back here for a minute? You're gonna need a desk to sign a few things, and I don't have so much as a table in the lobby. Of course, that's my son's fault; he went out and got all the furniture for the place when we remodeled and didn't think to buy one. He also didn't think to buy five of the same chair, as apposed to five different ones. That being said, he's a little thick. My other boy would have been the one for the job, if he didn't live so far away…" Burt rambled as he led Blaine back to his office. Blaine sat in a hard-backed chair across from a much more comfortable looking – yet squeaky – chair that looked worn out from years of Burt sitting on it day in and day out.

"So, what's your name?" Burt asked, pulling a few sheets of paper out of a filing cabinet on the far wall.

"Blaine Anderson," Blaine replied.

"Blaine," Burt repeated softly, face creased in concentration, like there was something he couldn't quite remember on the tip of his tongue.

"What?" Blaine asked.

"Nothing, nothing," Burt muttered. He tossed a collection of paperwork on the desk in front of Blaine. "Sign where it says so and fill out the required information. I'm going to go see what is going on with Robert and your damn car..." he said as he thundered out of the room. It was obvious that he was frustrated, so Blaine figured it didn't normally take that long to bring in a car that was so close.

Blaine let his eyes wander, taking in the walls. There were a few pictures of Burt and a woman with short brown hair and brown eyes. She had standard features, but she was pretty nonetheless. One picture of him and a huge guy Blaine knew had to have problems with doorways. And sitting on his desk…

Holy crap, was he really that dense?

He was sitting in a tire shop called Hummel Tire and Lube, and there on the desk was a picture of Burt Hummel with his son.

Kurt Hummel.

~o0o~

**End Notes**: You guys hate me yet? I bet you do. I bet you guys anything that there is at least one person who wants to rip off my head for dragging this out like a jackass. No matter. Like I said, it gets better. Pwomise.


	7. Coincidence

**Notes**: Yay! I'm happy I got this posted today! Thanks to **Rachiefish**, who, despite her beliefs, is fantastically amazing!

Coincidence

There are times when you can call it luck, like when you make it to work right before you're about to be late, or you manage to recover from almost face-planting in the middle of the street.

This wasn't one of those times.

This was something entirely different, because they didn't know if they should count themselves lucky. They didn't know if something good would come of their encounter, or if they would be at each other's throats. Neither one could call it luck if they were so unsure. So they called it a coincidence and left it at that for the time being, like an unfinished book page.

Oh, and what an interesting coincidence it was.

~o0o~

Blaine blanched for a moment, still unable to believe what he was seeing. Kurt Hummel was from desolate Ohio, of all places?

He neglected to remind himself that this was something he probably would have learned on their first date if he hadn't skipped out on Kurt.

"Hey, Kid?" Burt poked his head back in the office, and Blaine nearly jumped out of his skin, he'd been so focused on the picture. He scrambled to regain his composure and turned at a snail's pace to face Burt.

"Yeah?"

"The engine just needed to be jumped. You're good to go, just fill out the rest of those papers so I have 'em for my records and then I can charge you for the tow."

Blaine nodded, but his eyes locked back on the photo. "Is this your son?" he asked, pointing to it in a way he hoped came across somewhat idly. He did not, in any way, want to seem like the stalker type in front of this incredibly, undeniably, smoking hot – _no, don't think that; it'll go straight to your pants_ – boy's father. That would not go down well. In fact, he'd probably end up with a boot mark in his forehead while he sat on the curb, sticking his thumb out to the street because he hadn't been allowed to retrieve his car.

Burt looked mildly confused for a second, but he didn't seem to get defensive. Good sign. At least Blaine knew he wasn't coming across the wrong way. "Yeah. Why?"

"Next time you see him…can you tell him that I was here? I know him." _Know him? Know him? Jesus, Blaine, you went on half of a date with him and made a total dick of yourself. But yeah, you're the best of friends and when you were kids you used to link pinkies and skip around the park. Yeah. You know him, for sure._

Burt didn't question him, though he still looked pretty lost. "Yeah. Sure, whatever. I can do that."

Blaine smiled. "Thanks."

~o0o~

"Hey Dad!" Kurt called as he entered the shop. His dad was standing under a truck, twisting a bolt back into place with an almost comical amount of concentration.

"Hey Kurt," Burt grunted, putting down the wrench he was holding and walking over. "I'd hug you, but I know how you get when there's grease on your clothes."

Kurt raised an eyebrow as if to say _what's that supposed to mean?_, but left it at that. His dad said things like that all the time, and though Kurt could easily take them the wrong way, he was often _right_. Kurt told himself never to admit that out loud.

"How was your day?" Burt asked.

"It was fine. I went shopping. Not for long – I knew what I wanted." Kurt shrugged. He walked over to the work bench, meaning to set down his jacket. The workspace was so much more cluttered with used tools than usual, and he recoiled, deciding instead to keep the coat tucked into the bend of his arm.

"I thought you were going Black Friday shopping?"

"That's what Carole said. Nope. I've renounced that part of my life. I don't want to turn into a lunatic." Kurt snorted.

Burt chuckled heartily, readjusting the cap on his head. He patted Kurt on the shoulder sympathetically. "Son, I think that ship sailed a _long_ time ago."

"I am _not_ a lunatic," Kurt said, giving his father a warning glance. He wasn't really mad, of course; he and Burt had a sort of habit for teasing that developed some time after he went to college. Kurt assumed it was because they'd never had time for jokes before. Kurt was constantly being ridiculed and Burt had to be there to pick him off the ground when he thought of giving up. Which had been a lot, to be honest. Kurt pursed his lips.

"Okay, I'm changing the subject before I put a dent in that Volkswagen," he nodded his head towards the very nice and very new looking car that was currently up in the air, it's underside on display for everyone to see. "How was _your_ day? Any 'weirdos' come in today?" Kurt laughed, using his father's word. "I swear to God, with the people that roll through here from out of town, you could start a website that would put _People of Walmart_ to shame."

"No, no weirdos," Burt said. Then his eyes widened, lit up with a sudden realization. "You know a guy named Blaine?"

Kurt stopped short, his heart jumping into his throat. _Blaine? Why would he be asking about Blaine? He doesn't…how would he know?_ He recounted the moment in his head from a few weeks back when his father had abruptly left the room before he started drooling over Blaine to Carole. Perhaps a guy came into the shop with the same name, and he'd remembered. Blaine was a fairly common name, wasn't it? Well, maybe that was a little farfetched. Blaine was probably only a common name within prestigious, snotty circles. It sounded like that kind of name.

_Except it works for Blaine. Blaine makes his name seem sweet and innocent, and God help me, sexy…and oh jeez I'm thinking about this and Dad's waiting for an answer. More importantly, I'm thinking about this in front of my dad. Not cool. Wait, what was I going to say? Oh! Okay. Yeah._ "No, I don't. Why?"

Of course his voice had to jump up in pitch. Of course. _Why not just paint a big red sign on my forehead_? He groaned. And sure enough, Burt was on to him.

"You're lying," Burt said carefully. "Wanna tell me why? I haven't even said why I asked yet and you're already sweating like a pig."

"I don't sweat," Kurt said pointedly, crossing his arms.

"It's a figure of speech, Kurt. You gonna tell me?"

Kurt took a breath. "We went on a date. He bailed. I had no idea…" Kurt rubbed his temples with the heels of his hands.

"He came into the shop today. Left about half an hour ago. He saw your picture on my desk and asked about you." Burt shrugged.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I should call him, then," he muttered, trying to seem as if he was doing this begrudgingly. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up his missed call list, pressing his thumb down on the first of many "missed call from Blaine Anderson" notifications. He heard the dial tone almost immediately and excused himself into his father's office, locking the door behind him. No need for anyone to hear anything unsavory…

~o0o~

Blaine's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he turned to Mrs. Bea. "Do you mind?"

The older woman in the passenger side seat smiled softly, waving him off and pointing Blaine's focus back to the road. "No. Not at all, go ahead."

He nodded and brought the phone to his ear as he pressed answer. "Hello?"

"_Blaine Anderson, what the _hell_ are you doing in Ohio?"_ he heard, and he literally jumped an inch or so off his seat, for once thankful that his height kept him from banging his head against the sunroof. He pulled the phone away from his ear to look at caller I.D, but with that unique of a voice, it was sort of impossible for him to not already know who was on the other end. Kurt Hummel, after weeks of trying to get in touch, had finally called him back. (And yelled at him, but he wasn't going to think about that right now).

"Hello to you too," Blaine snapped, and he would come to regret his tone later, but for now, he was going to stick with it.

"_Are you going to answer my question or not?"_

Blaine shrugged, which was stupid, because Kurt couldn't see him. Sometimes he hated that a lot of his emotions were displayed visually. "I have family in Westerville. Grew up here."

"_And you're in Lima because of _why_…?"_

"Picking up a family friend for dinner. She works here."

Kurt sounded exasperated, like he was looking for an answer he thought should be the first thing out of Blaine's mouth. _"Fine, fine, that's all fine, but why were you in my dad's shop?"_

Blaine actually chuckled, because the reality of the situation seemed like the most mundane thing in the world. "My engine needed to be jumped."

"_Really."_ It wasn't a question.

"I am the proud owner of a '65 Camaro when I'm at home. You'd think a nicer, older car would be fun, but no. It's a piece of shit and hasn't been consistently reliable since I was in high school. I think it's a dud."

"_Fair enough. I don't get it though – I've been ignoring you on purpose for the better part of a month. And you're the one who left, so why…why would you even bother?"_

The tone in Kurt's voice made Blaine's throat run dry. He'd known that his leaving had to have made Kurt feel terrible, but knowing it and hearing it (or, as it felt, having it forced down his throat in such a way that made him want to cry), were two completely different things.

Blaine dropped his gaze to his hands for a moment as he turned onto the highway. "You never did give me the chance to explain."

"_Then explain, please."_

The statement struck a nerve with Blaine, because here he was, having a conversation he'd been waiting to have for _weeks_ and all because this guy just wanted to yell at him for passing through his hometown. Fantastic.

"It's not really something I want to talk about over the phone," Blaine finally managed. "I could meet you for coffee on Friday around noon, if you're not planning on shopping."

"_I'm not. Whatever, that's fine. Swing by the shop. I'll see you then, and I expect a full explanation."_

"You'll get one," Blaine whispered before hanging up. He returned his phone to his pocket and shot a sidelong glance at Mrs. Bea. She sat turned at an angle so she could lean into the door of the car and curl up in her baggy-looking sweater. "Sorry about that," he sighed, drumming his fingers across the steering wheel in frustration.

"Boy troubles?" she asked earnestly.

That time, Blaine really did hit his head on the roof of the car. "Wait, _what_? You know I'm…I mean, not that I...but…"

Mrs. Bea laughed, pushing a few strands of silvery hair out of her face. "I've always known, and I'm okay with it, dear. Don't worry. I know a lot of older folks aren't, but I do have a reason." She patted Blaine's knee lightly.

Blaine was afraid to ask what that reason was, but he didn't have time to anyway, as the older woman kept right on talking.

"Did I ever tell you about how my marriage was arranged?" she asked. Blaine shook his head tentatively, getting a terrible feeling he knew where the conversation was going. "I was independent, didn't care much for children or boys. Laughed whenever my mother mentioned me becoming a housewife, like her. So she started setting me up with the sons of ladies from her bridge club. That's how I met Harold.

"Harold…he was_ odd_. I knew that much right away. He was the type that could easily have any girl he wanted wrapped around his finger in an instant, but he just didn't seem interested in anyone. We became close, something akin to best friends, and since both of us knew we'd never find what we wanted, for one reason or another, we decided to go through with a wedding. I guess you could say we were both 'settling'." Mrs. Bea chuckled at the thought, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

Yep. This story was definitely going where Blaine thought it was. He swallowed thickly and grimaced, not wanting to listen to the rest of it.

"I found out he was gay on our wedding night. We were standing awkwardly in a hotel room and he just sort of…blurted it out. That he couldn't be with me 'like that' because it wouldn't mean anything to him. At first, I was disgusted. I ignored him for weeks, which must have made the whole situation worse for him, the poor dear. But one day I saw him sitting out on the porch, looking all miserable, and all I could think was 'why would someone choose to be like that?' That was when I realized it was something you couldn't change. No amount of time spent married to me was going to straighten him out.

"About two years into our faked marriage, he met Mark. Mark was a brilliant little fellow, and the way Harold looked at him…" Mrs. Bea paused, a faint smile playing on the edges of her lips. She looked as if she was about to cry. From happiness or sadness, Blaine couldn't tell. "Everyone should be allowed to marry whoever they want. Because no one deserves to be unhappy as Harold was with me."

Blaine didn't no what to say. He made sure he wasn't about to run into anything (which he wasn't, because he was on the middle of a highway), and then closed his eyes tightly for a moment, trying to imagine what it would be like to live a lie for as long as they did. "Thank you, Mrs. Bea."

She grinned. "Any time, Mr. Anderson. Now, you never did answer my question. Boy troubles?"

~o0o~

People suck.

It's a little known fact, but they do.

That is why Kurt always hates that his dad insists on having his help in the shop the day before Thanksgiving while he gives Finn and the rest of the workers "a little time off". Because half the time, the people that come to the shop are complete and total jackasses.

Because of this, Burt instilled a no tolerance "don't be pulling crap in my garage" policy several years back. In fact, it had pretty much been there from the beginning. That had only amplified when Kurt started helping out. Because no matter what you say or do, there's always going to be that idiot hick driving upstate that thinks it's so _god-dammed_ hilarious that a guy with a higher-pitched voice and nice taste in clothes "thinks" he can fix an oil leak.

And it always happened at least once when Kurt was in town. So he made a habit of not telling his dad about it and swallowing his pride. Burt didn't need to lose business any more than he needed a bucket of chicken from KFC.

He was already in a foul mood because of Blaine, so naturally that's what he suspected of the couple that was walking into the lobby now, while his father had run home to grab them both some late lunch. He didn't know what, but something about them just screamed "Bible Belt".

"Hey, you guys fix flats in here? We ran over a rock or somethin'," the male of the two asked.

Kurt nodded and knocked his head back towards the garage. "Pull your car around back, and I'll take a look at it."

The woman raised her eyebrow, but said nothing, and then they were out in the parking lot again, getting back into the car to drive it into the garage.

_Maybe people aren't so bad_, Kurt thought.

_So maybe I should have been a little nicer to Blaine._

~o0o~

Monday morning loomed over the Anderson household like the blade of a guillotine. Mrs. Anderson stumbled around in a stupor as she sucked down cup after cup of coffee, continuously reminding everyone from whom the Anderson children received their caffeine addiction.

Mr. Anderson couldn't find his briefcase, and there was an emergency at the office he couldn't exactly ignore. He was on a time crunch and was rifling through the coat closet again and again as if that would make it appear. He finally found it by the foot of the stairs, and refusing the believe it had been there all along (which it very much had been), he grabbed it and barreled out of the door to his car without so much as a goodbye. He'd be back at around noon, and that was okay, as long as he was there for dinner. The Andersons' had never really been big on watching the football game anyway.

Blaine, however, didn't seem to notice.

He was up at seven, in the kitchen. He'd promised his mother he'd make the turkey after Tyler had raved about his glaze. Well, not exactly. She'd really only described it by making a series of almost orgasmic sounds that made Blaine want to cut out his eardrums. And since turkey was an all day activity – one that he had to be attentive to – he was trying his best to keep his mood positive. He knew first hand that cooking while frustrated or angry or even tired could result in something pathetic and inedible.

Tyler wandered into the kitchen (fully dressed for once), Pavarotti following closely at her heels. Blaine wasn't sure of the capabilities of the feline brain, but he felt like that was only happening because the cat wanted to annoy his sister. And he wasn't about to object.

"Sleep okay?" He asked.

Tyler nodded enthusiastically. "I'd forgotten how comfortable my old bed was. These last few days have been _heaven_. I don't know how I left that mattress behind when we moved."

"You never slept in that bed when we were here, Ty," Blaine suggested helpfully. "In fact, you never slept in your bed at Crawford, either. You pretty much boarded with all the Warblers in the East Wing at Dalton, crashed on the other bed in my room. And you _spoiled_ everyone."

Tyler's nose wrinkled. "My roommate thought I was a lesbian. And I wasn't about to tell her otherwise, so I just kept my distance." She shrugged.

_Well, that clears the whole "straight or not" thing up_, Blaine thought. He was curious, though. "Why'd she think that?"

"I may be straight, but I can acknowledge a good piece of ass when I see one. I mean, if there was anyone in the world I'd go gay for based solely on quality-of-ass, it would have been her. Because _day-um_." She paused, thinking. "And I did _not_ spoil you guys."

"Tyler, some of the underclassmen were seriously considering sabotaging your finals just so you'd be around for longer."

"Whatever."

At that moment, Cooper entered, and Blaine snorted. A lot of people thought Cooper was really attractive, and if Blaine could get past the fact that he was his brother, he could see why they thought that. But all those girls that fawned over Cooper had obviously never seen him when he'd just gotten up. Blaine liked to assume that was why so many of his dates turned into one-night-stands.

He was visibly in need of a shower, his skin a slightly different shade than usual, and his hair in a state of the ultimate disarray. He yawned about every five seconds as he made his way to the refrigerator and took a swig of milk straight from the carton.

"Morning Coop," Blaine said as he preheated the oven.

"Morning Blaine," Cooper returned, forming the words around a yawn. "What smells good?"

"Uncooked turkey."

Cooper left after that, probably disgusted by the fact he thought raw meat smelled good. Blaine just laughed and sat down at the table with his laptop to wait out the day.

~o0o~

Friday couldn't come quickly enough for Kurt.

But he wasn't telling anyone that, because he didn't want to admit that he was excited to see this boy again. He hadn't even told Rachel about his conversation with Blaine, for fear that she would go all "big sister" on him and insist on joining him for the planned coffee run.

When it came time for him to leave and meet up with Blaine outside his dad's shop, it almost felt like he was sneaking out, even though he specifically told his dad he was going out to get coffee. So it wasn't like he was lying. Still.

Blaine was already there when he pulled into the parking lot, and his breath hitched in his throat. _Still gorgeous as ever, I see_, he mused. He pulled the key out of the ignition and got out of the car, noting that Blaine really _did_ drive a crappy looking '65 Camaro.

"Hi," Blaine said when Kurt was close enough to hear. He was wearing – how _dare_ he – an olive green long-sleeved tee that hugged him in all the right places, and a pair of low-slung jeans. It was much more low-maintenance than when they'd first met. If Kurt recalled correctly, he'd been wearing a bowtie, and a patterned one at that. If he had to say, he preferred this look.

"Hey," Kurt returned, trying to keep his voice even. "S-sorry about being snippy on the phone. I was just a little caught off guard, is all."

Blaine laughed heartily. "Yeah, me too. I was so stupid I didn't even realize I was where I was until I saw the picture on your dad's desk."

Kurt smiled. He could totally imagine Blaine getting into his car after leaving the shop and banging his head on the steering wheel. He reveled in the idea for a minute before coming back to reality and sighing. "Okay, so there's this coffee place in town called the Lima Bean, and I went there all the time in school. It's great. I figured one of us could drive, and we could just come back here afterwards?"

Blaine nodded. "I suggest you drive, as my car has apparently decided it hates me," he said. He followed Kurt back to his navigator. Kurt couldn't help but squeal a little bit on the inside at having Blaine in his car. The last time there'd been a boy in his car was…

Well, he wasn't going to think about that.

The car ride was comfortably silent, and before Kurt knew it, he was sitting across from Blaine in the Lima Bean, waiting dutifully for an explanation as to why Blaine would have skipped out on their first date.

"So…" Kurt said. "You ready to tell me your dirty little secret?"

Blaine laughed softly and took a sip of his coffee. Medium drip. _I don't know why, but that's kind of sexy. Oh hell, I'm doing it again. Kurt, _stop it_. Now._

"I don't have a great relationship with my parents," Blaine started. "They weren't the most…accepting. We went through a particularly rough patch my senior year, and Tyler, she said she was going wherever I did, so we applied to schools pretty much everywhere except in-state and just left when we were accepted into NYU."

Kurt nodded accordingly, urging Blaine to explain further.

He took another drink, his hand clenched tightly around his cup. "When I picked up the phone that night, it was Tyler calling to tell me that our mother had informed her that our father had been in a car accident. I knew it had to be bad, because she just never…calls. Like that. So I left and met Tyler at the airport. That trip to the hospital was my first time back in Ohio in eight years."

"Oh _God_," Kurt said, unceremoniously banging his head against the table. Here he was, thinking he was going to get some half-assed answer that he would laugh over before telling Blaine to leave. "I'm an idiot. I'm a self-absorbed, egotistic idiot. I should have picked up when you called the next day, I'm so, so sor–"

Blaine reached out and put a hand on Kurt's arm. "It's fine. You didn't know. I totally see where you're coming from."

"That still isn't an excuse," Kurt sighed, running a finger through his hair. Which yes, he would come to regret later.

They went back and forth like this for a long while, Kurt arguing his stupidity while Blaine insisted that what he did was totally justifiable, whereas _he_ should have at least let Kurt know that he had to go.

When finally Blaine checked his watch, Kurt was about to burst with anger towards himself, so it was probably a good thing that Blaine said: "We should, uh, we should head back to the car. I need to be home for dinner."

Kurt nodded stiffly and stood, brushing the wrinkles out of his shirt before following Blaine out to the car. He sat in the driver's seat for a moment before groaning once more. "I still feel stupid."

"You're not, though."

"I am. Because it turns out that you're a really great guy after all, and I've spent the last month thinking of all the nasty reasons why you could have left, when all I had to do was pick up the phone and listen, and–"

"You're really kind of adorable when you're stressed out, you know?" Blaine giggled from his seat.

"Huh?"

"I'm just thinking…I never did get to give you a first-date kiss," Blaine said, almost innocently. But Kurt knew exactly what he was hinting towards. And he actually didn't really mind.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Oh_ really_?"

Blaine's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, was that uncalled for? You know what, I shouldn't have said anything..."

"Oh Blaine. Just shut up and kiss me already," Kurt breathed.

So Blaine did. It was slow and deliberate to begin with, Blaine's lips simply sliding across his own, but even that sent Kurt's head spinning. He finally understood what people meant when they said _fireworks_. Because that's all he felt right now; tingles and sparks on every inch of his skin. He'd never felt like this during a kiss before. Everything before had just seemed…mechanical, to some extent, like he'd just been going through the motions. It was only a kiss. But this…Blaine reached up to cup Kurt's jaw, scooting closer. Kurt smiled into the kiss and pulled back to catch his breath, resting his forehead against Blaine's. "You know, if you're not under any obligations, you could have dinner with my family tonight. So you don't have to leave so soon."

"What's on the menu?"

"Leftovers from yesterday."

"Hmm…I dunno…"

"_Blaine_."

"Fine. Just let me text Tyler…"

~o0o~

**End Notes**: Wow that was really long. And _finally_! MY KLAINE BABIES! *Reviews are appreciated*!


	8. Tyler Becomes a Sleuth

**Author's Notes**: Ahhh! So excited. Thanks _**Rachiefish**_! Got rid of the Klaine issue, but I still have to have conflict, so I added some more in. It was difficult to write, let me say. Enjoy!

Tyler Becomes a Sleuth

Tyler wasn't stupid.

In fact, she was quite the opposite. She'd always kept a high G.P.A. in both high school and college – though she couldn't always tell if that was due to her parents' habit of badgering her or not – and read everything she could possibly get her hands on. Her room in New York was evidence of this – a sea of books, half-read or otherwise. (The irony of this was that she had an unused Kindle from Blaine lying on her bedside table. She appreciated the gesture – one she guessed was an attempt at getting rid of her clutter – but there was just something about real, tangible books she loved more than anything else).

To top this all off, she knew her brother well. So when she received a text message from Blaine informing her that he would be having dinner with an "old friend", she knew something was up. She kicked her feet up onto her desk and leaned back in her rolling chair, rubbing her hands together in anticipation of the impending conversation.

**To Blaine: What old friend?**

**From Blaine: Wes.**

Tyler grinned for a moment, knowing that Blaine had made a terrible mistake. If he was lying, she'd have him cornered, because she hadn't forgotten to swap phone numbers with Wes the previous summer after he dropped his cell in the pool. As to how the phone got in the pool – along with a series of plush toys and Dalton Academy memorabilia – was still a little hazy, since they had been in the midst of their annual drunken excuse for a Warbler's reunion.

**To Wes: You're not in Ohio preparing to eat dinner with my brother, are you?**

She waited patiently, turning an eraser over in her hands. She wanted to get to the bottom of this, if it was the last thing she did. She said that a lot, but maybe it was simply because she was infinitely curious. If she'd heard too much, or made an intriguing assumption, she had to keep searching until she disproved herself and found the truth.

Her phone buzzed.

**From Wes: Are you on crack or something? NO, I am NOT in Ohio. I'm STUDYING IN LONDON, and right now it's, I dunno, ONE IN THE MORNING. And I'm roaming, too, so thanks for adding to my phone bill.**

**From Wes: And nice to hear from you, by the way. *Virtual Hug*. Maybe I'll see you soon – I haven't decided if I'm coming home for x-mas or not.**

Tyler smirked and dialed Blaine's number, her eyes glossing over the ceiling. She was pretty much in the attic, so all there was to see up there was the inside of the roof. She didn't know why, but that had always appealed to her as a kid, the idea that there was less separating her from the sky in here than anywhere else in the house.

When Blaine answered the phone, Tyler didn't get a 'hello'. She didn't get an introduction of any sort, actually. No, Blaine answered the phone by groaning: _"Tyler, what do you want? I told you, I'm hanging out with–"_

"Wes is in London, you backwards-round asshat," Tyler cut him off, rolling her eyes at the surprised choking noise she heard on the other end. Serves him right, she reasoned.

"_Damn. I thought that was David."_ his voice was a little rough, like he was out of breath. Which, in Tyler's book, meant only one thing.

"Nope, not David," Tyler said quickly, popping the "p". "Now spill. Is it a boy? Please tell me it's a boy." She shook her paper clip holder as she considered the situation. "Wait, no. I take that back. The only place you've really been is Mrs. Bea's little slice of crazy. You don't need a boyfriend that knits you things, Blaine; that would be weird."

When there was no response, Tyler continued. "Seriously, though. That screams creeper right there."

"_No, it's not–"_ he was cut off by someone saying: _"Blaine, who're you talking to?"_

Tyler recognized the voice. She couldn't _not_. For the last few months, the voice had been gracing several Broadway-based talk shows, and just recently, it had been in her apartment. "You're with _Hummel_? Oh my God, how does that even _happen_? He's not from Ohio, is he? Wait…" she had reached that point all people know and hate. The point where you're so surprised that you can't complete coherent sentences. She kept babbling until she was cut off, because seriously. How was she supposed to hand the mental image of her brother, Mr. Average-Joe, Uptight-Bowtie-Enthusiast, sucking face with a famous Broadway star? _Not well_, that's how.

Blaine sighed into the phone. _"I ran into him, okay? He gave me the chance to explain what happened with Dad. I'm going to go eat dinner with him tonight. Can we talk about this later?"_

"Um…sure. Yeah. Bye." Tyler hung up and ran a finger through her hair, completely confused.

"Seriously though," Tyler said after a pause. She was talking to thin air, but that didn't bother her too much. "Why _Hummel_?"

~o0o~

When Kurt and Blaine had finished – for lack of a better word – _attacking_ each other in the back seat of Kurt's Navigator and made it to Kurt's house, Burt and Carole seemed to take the whole situation in stride. They didn't interrogate Blaine, or pull Kurt into the kitchen for a quick conversation on _when_ he had lost his mind enough to bring home a boy that, just weeks previously, had skipped out halfway through a date. They just talked. And actually, they seemed to be having a good time.

"So, Blaine," Burt asked as he popped a piece of turkey into his mouth, "What's your job?"

Blaine's forehead crinkled, and Kurt had to refocus from the fact that watching Blaine concentrate had to be his new favorite thing.

"I currently work at a bar with my sister, Tyler," he said slowly, probably unsure if this was an acceptable answer. Kurt had to suppress a laugh, because what Blaine didn't know was that Puck, who had remained a close friend of Finn's throughout the years, had worked as a D.J. in a bar for half of his college career. No one was in the position to degrade him for it.

"But," Blaine continued, "I went to school to become a music teacher. You know, for like elementary school kids? Didn't exactly work out, I guess," he shrugged. Kurt noted that he looked slightly crestfallen. It was kind of heartwarming, actually, to see that he cared like that. He reached under the table and squeezed Blaine's hand.

Blaine shot a sideways glance in Kurt's direction, the corner of his mouth turned up, but it only lasted a millisecond before he threw himself back into the conversation, his hand removed from Kurt's so he could wave it around, talking animatedly with Finn and Burt about the Buckeyes, and how Tyler made a point of supporting Michigan just so they had something to bet on and fight over during football season.

"Well, next time you're around, you should bring her. I could use a little healthy wager now and again," Burt chuckled, taking a drink of water.

"I dunno, she's a little eccentric," Blaine shrugged, his ears turning pink. Kurt had seen enough of Tyler at this point to know that she was, indeed, _eccentric_. He probably wasn't too keen on the idea.

_Hmm. Blaine likes football. And it's not a deal breaker. Wow, I must really love him,_ Kurt mused jokingly as he watched Blaine babble. And then he stopped cold, trying to keep his immediate freak-out discreet._ Wait. No no no, you can't love him. That's like...you've only been on half a date. Just forget you said anything._

Carole sighed from across the table, stretching her arms out above her head. "Well, I'm full. Anyone want anything else?"

There was a flurry of unanimous "No's" that ranged from forced (Finn) to panicky and insistent (Kurt). Carole nodded and stood up, starting to pick up the dirty dishes.

Kurt jumped up, eager to help, if only to get away from Blaine for a minute. He grabbed his plate and followed his step-mother into the kitchen.

"You really like this boy," was the first thing out of Carole's mouth when Kurt set his dish in the sink. Kurt turned around, eyes wide.

"Shh!" he said, bringing his finger to his mouth.

Carole laughed. "Kurt, it's _okay_. Besides, it's pretty obvious. I mean, you weren't lying about anything you said while we were in New York. And the way you look at him..." she shook her head.

"I haven't known him that long. In fact, I thought he was a premium jackass until about five hours ago, so..."

"Does it really matter?" she asked as she grabbed a sponge from a drawer. "Honey, just go with it. And get out of the kitchen – you have company, and your father knows better than to sit there after dinner."

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"_Out_!" Carole laughed, grabbing the towel of the stove handle and using it to shoo Kurt out of the kitchen. Kurt almost made a comment about how terribly cliché that was, but decided against it when he saw Blaine watching him. Instant goof-block.

"Dad, Carole wants you in the kitchen. And I suggest you make it quick, because she was starting to pull the 'you know better' card." Kurt muttered.

Burt stood, somewhat begrudgingly, and made his way into the kitchen with a few plates. Finn was long gone; probably off in the living room watching the previous day's football highlights.

"Dinner was great," Blaine blurted suddenly, and it sounded so strangled and warped that Kurt's face creased in surprise.

"You okay?" Kurt asked, walking around the table. He didn't sit down – at the moment, he felt too much like the epitome of the word "antsy" to do much else than stand, hands shaking, next to Blaine, who was still seated.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Blaine said. "I just...when it's quiet like that, I kind of feel the need to talk," he shrugged, unable to find the words.

Kurt nodded. "I know how you feel. When Finn and Carole moved in with us for the first time, dinner was always awkward. It's like food is the only common ground in which silence is always awkward." Kurt paused, trying to think of something they could do to pass the time until Blaine had to head home. "Hey, want to see my room?"

Blaine raised an eyebrow, a grin attacking his features. It was adorable, and Kurt almost hated having to put an end to the thoughts rolling through that curly little head.

"Geez, Blaine, not like that. I just figured I could show you the place where I practically _lived_ the majority my life."

Blaine nodded, the smile from seconds earlier gone. Kurt wished it wasn't. "I'd like that."

Kurt held out his hand and pulled Blaine to his feet, speaking in a stereotypical gentlemanly accent as he led Blaine up the stairs.

"The tour of Broadway Extraordinaire, Kurt Hummel's childhood home is an expensive one. You sure you can afford it?" Kurt asked playfully. He stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs and pointed to the left and right before continuing. "Oh, that's my parents' room and Finn's old room, by the way."

Blaine laughed good-naturedly and stopped Kurt in front of the room he called his own. "What's the price?"

Kurt smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I can think of...maybe one thing..."

Blaine got the clue and pecked Kurt on the lips once before bouncing back and turning the knob on Kurt's bedroom door. "Okay, let's see that room!"

"Fucking tease," Kurt muttered, following closely behind.

The room was in a slight state of disarray, since Kurt had been living out of a suitcase for the last week, but other than that, it appeared much as it had when he'd actually lived there. Same bedding, same furniture…actually, come to think about it, being in the room made Kurt feel nostalgic.

"You were in glee-club in high school?" Blaine said, gesturing to the newspaper clipping of the 2012 New Directions holding their first place trophy that Kurt had tacked to the wall.

"Oh yeah!" Kurt said enthusiastically. "The McKinley High New Directions. We won our first National Championship my senior year. They've won every year since, I think." He moved to Blaine's side, studying the picture more closely. He pointed to a girl in the front row, just a shadow of the woman he knew now. A completely different person, by a long shot. "That's Rachel. She's one of my best friends. She's an actress too, you know."

"Oh, that's cool," Blaine said with a smile. His brows knitted together for a moment before he spoke again. "I was in the Warblers at Dalton Academy. Ever hear of them?" He questioned, leaning against Kurt's dresser.

"We competed with them my junior year, I think." Kurt said. "Were you there? I'm thinking I would have remembered you."

Blaine shook his head. "I'm a year behind you, right? I didn't go to Dalton until my senior year." He cleared his throat and looked around again, almost frantic, his eyes locking on the first think he saw. "Who's this?" He'd picked up a picture frame that Kurt had purposefully put face down when he walked into the room for the first time since the previous summer.

The picture, which he remembered taking vividly, was of Dave on their graduation day, just four months before everything started going horribly, terribly wrong. Kurt swallowed, memories of pure stupidity starting to surface. "He…he's my ex. We lasted a while after high school – about a year, actually. But we…wanted different things. I guess." _Not even scratching the surface. That's nice. Wonderful. You practically confessed your _love_ for the guy at dinner, how long before you're able to tell him everything?_ "I keep forgetting to get rid of the picture, so I just flip it down every time I'm here."

"Oh." Blaine said, setting the picture down as if it were suddenly revealed to be poisoned. "Sorry about that, then."

"No! No, it's fine, I just haven't talked about him in a while, you know?" Kurt shrugged. "Would it be pathetic if I told you he's the last guy I've seriously dated?"

Blaine shook his head. "No. The last guy _I_ seriously dated was an asshole. I've had a few boyfriends here and there, but if my memory serves me right, nothing that lasted longer than a couple of months. And that was it. I guess work and being around Tyler just kind of occupied all my time."

"Tyler wastes all your time?" Kurt snorted.

"I'm serious!" Blaine said, his face scrunched up in a portrayal of mock hurt. "You saw how she was when I texted her! She's _nosy_, she rarely cleans, I trip every time I go into her room, she hates cooking, and I swear to _God_, if she walks across the apartment naked one more time..."

"Okay, okay, you've made your point," Kurt laughed, cutting Blaine off and taking his hand. "And your point kind of sounds like you want to kill her."

"Maybe a little," Blaine admitted. "But, y'know, she's always had my back. Even if she's a little crazy."

"_You're_ a little crazy," Kurt said. He leaned in for what was supposed to be a quick kiss, but Blaine's hands soon found their way to Kurt's waist, and Kurt wasn't so sure he wanted to be quick anymore.

Blaine shrugged, his breath ghosting across Kurt's lips for a moment before he closed the gap. He pulled away after a second and smirked. "Takes one to know one," he said, actually giggling. Kurt swatted him and rolled his eyes.

"Idiot."

"Takes one to k–"

"Shut up."

~o0o~

Blaine pulled into the driveway at his parents' house around eight. He was thrilled to have made this progress with Kurt, even though he wasn't exactly sure what they _were_ to each other at the moment.

This wasn't to say that he was looking to gush about his night to anyone. And it also didn't mean he wanted Tyler to jump him the instant he opened the front door.

Unfortunately, you can't always get what you want.

"Blaine! _Blaine! _Why did you lie? Was he a good kisser? Did you have a nice time?" she badgered as Blaine hung up his coat.

"Ty, I didn't tell you because I knew you'd act like _this_," Blaine muttered, gesturing broadly to his sister. If there was ever such a thing as literal pinging-off-the-walls, Tyler was currently the closest you could get. Her hands and knees were shaking and she was bouncing up and down, coming up to eye-level with Blaine and back down again.

"I'm not acting like anything," Tyler scoffed, crossing her arms. "But I really would like to know how your night was."

"It was fine, Ms. Five-year-old-news-reporter," Blaine shrugged, unwilling to let on to any more than that. "And I hear that you woke Wes up at one in the morning?"

"Yeah, but just because you–" Tyler eyed him. "Wait, how to you know that?"

"I received a phone call from him on my way back. He couldn't go back to sleep."

Tyler cringed.

~o0o~

**To Blaine: hey, I just had a random thought. are you flying home tomorrow? We might be on the same flight, in that case.**

**From Blaine: *jumps with joy because I haven't been texted by you in a looong time* yeah, actually. The 9:13 flight?**

**To Blaine: yes! You can stick Tyler with Rachel and we can sit together.**

**From Blaine: You sure they'll be able to handle being around each other?**

**To Blaine: No, but it'll be worth it. If worse comes to worst, the flight attendants can restrain them and we can pretend we have no idea who they are. **

**From Blaine: Sounds like a plan!**

~o0o~

The morning greeted Tyler Anderson in the form of Blaine slapping her lightly across the face.

"_What. The. Hell?_" Tyler moaned, clutching her cheek. She rolled over and slammed her face into her pillow, trying to simultaneously forget about the shock and block out the sunlight.

"You slept in too late; we need to leave for the airport in _twenty minutes_, Tyler!" Blaine groaned. His voice was exasperated, strained, even.

Tyler's eyes shot open and she swung her feet over the side of the bed, not waiting for her body to readjust to her being up right before she stood and stumbled across the room to her suitcase. "Why didn't you think to wake me up sooner? I had set aside time to _shower_. And eat, and throw the rest of my stuff in a bag! Did it not occur to you that if I'm not up an hour after I've promised to set my alarm to come _wake me up?_" she pulled a t-shirt, and a pair of jeans out of the bag and started stripping with out any warning for Blaine's sake.

"Is that my _shirt_?" Blaine asked, peering through the crack between his fingers.

Tyler looked down, shrugged, and kicked of her pajama pants. "Yeah, I guess so. Think of this as payback for not waking me up." she pulled on her jeans, grabbed the slip-ons from under her desk, and ran downstairs, leaving Blaine in the dust.

She nearly slid down the banister of the stairs cartoon style, and completely ignored Cooper when he tried to say good morning (and kind of bumped into him, which was bad, considering he was walking upstairs with a coffee mug).

"Morning Sweetie," Emily Anderson said when she burst into the kitchen. She was standing by the table with a bagel and a bowl of cereal. "I figured this would happen, as always, so I made you something. Eat _quickly_. You don't want to miss your flight, do you?"

Tyler caught the insult embedded in the remark, felt a familiar pang of anger settle in her stomach, but said nothing. Most people would have dismissed this, wouldn't have thought anything of it. But for Tyler, it was usual. It was something her mother always did, and it was years of build up, years of evasively being told that she was insignificant, and one instance when she thought she might be in the clear that led to that very moment when she finally just wanted to turn around and scream. But she didn't, because she'd learned how to settle.

No wonder she'd run off to New York not a week after graduation.

She took the food and sat down. "It's not my fault that the airlines are run by a bunch of tight-assed people who seem to care more about my general discomfort than catching terrorists," she said sourly.

"Drama Queen," Emily teased before picking up her own coffee and leaving the room. As soon as she was gone, Tyler ate as quickly and efficiently as she could, without worrying about not looking like a pig, and then ran back upstairs to finish packing.

If Emily had watched her go up, she would have noticed Tyler's fingernails digging into her palm.

It was Cooper, though, from his position on the couch in the second floor sitting area, who saw this.

And it was Blaine who saw the red under Tyler's nails when she drew the zipper around the sides of her luggage. But Blaine, like Tyler, who had learned how to settle, didn't want to call attention to anything that would ruin what they were starting to rebuild.

~o0o~

**End Notes**: Don't hate me for the angst. Please don't. I just...no. I don't like it either.


	9. An Awkward Beginning

**Notes**: Thanks so much to **xxrachiefishxx **, and enjoy!

An Awkward Beginning

"Hi, I'm Rachel Berry," the girl held out her hand and Tyler shook it, because what else was she supposed to do? She was stuck next to this girl for the next couple of hours - a girl who was too impossibly awake for it to be natural - all because Blaine wanted to be able to ogle his boyfriend in a scrutinizing manner that was better achieved closer up. Well, she didn't know if _boyfriend_ was the right word to describe Blaine's relationship with Hummel yet, but it was better than nothing.

"I'm Tyler," she replied, albeit a little coldly. She was still bitter that she'd been required to throw out her coffee before boarding the plane, and that Blaine had nearly decapitated her with his suitcase while trying to put it in the overhead compartment.

"That's an interesting name for a girl," Rachel observed with a cocky grin.

"My parents thought I was a boy and didn't bother to change the name when I was born," Tyler said quickly, wanting the subject to drop. She had a track record of disappointment with her parents, and she'd always seen that as the very beginning, like she'd been a failure from the start. That morning's interaction with her mother had left her a little touchy, however much she denied it, and this conversation wasn't doing any wonders for her mental state.

Rachel kept smiling, and Tyler felt her eye beginning to twitch. It wasn't through any fault of Rachel's, she knew; she was just in one of her moods. Add a Rachel Berry to the mix and apparently you got some kind of moody hell tornado that no one wanted to touch. Except, well, _Rachel_.

"That's interesting," Rachel shrugged before changing the subject. "Kurt and Blaine must really like each other – Kurt actually _asked for my opinion about his outfit_ this morning, and he hasn't done that since…gosh, I don't think he's done that since we graduated from NYADA…and all we're doing today is flying, and he still asked. I thought he learned his lesson about flying in uncomfortable clothing when we went to New York for Nationals in junior year."

Tyler snorted. "Are we divulging embarrassing stories now? Because that sounds _intriguing_."

Rachel raised an eyebrow, dropping her hand to Tyler's knee absentmindedly. "Hmm. That's not an embarrassing story, but I'll cut you a deal. You tell me something about Blaine, and I'll think of something else."

"Well," Tyler said, racking her brain for something fairly awful that wouldn't kill him if Kurt were to magically find out, "Oh! Blaine and I box – well, really, he did, and then he taught me so he could spar with me – but anyway, during our senior year, there was this time when he stayed after school to use the punching bag in the weight room, and he threw out his shoulder."

Rachel pulled a face that screamed "sympathy pain", and Tyler just laughed, rolling her eyes and tipping her head back to stare at whatever movie was playing. She didn't recognize it, and knew she'd probably spend the rest of the flight trying to name it. "So he was like, allegedly on the floor for a while just holding his arm, trying to figure out how to move, and after a while he managed to get over to his back and call me because I was the first person on his call history, I guess.

"I didn't answer because I was showering after lacrosse practice, and so he just kept calling people. And eventually he ended up calling my mom, who made a big deal out of it and called all the teachers, who called an ambulance," Tyler giggled. "I got a missed call notification, and Blaine didn't pick up when I redialed, so I was going to go over to the dorms…" Tyler trailed off. "Oh yeah! I forgot to mention. Blaine and I went to private school our senior year. A boys' school and a girls' school that were right next to each other. Anyway, I go out to jump the fence, and there's an ambulance and a fire truck in the courtyard, all because Blaine dislocated his shoulder. I got over there pretty fast, and I even heard the paramedics chewing out the headmaster for calling them when they could have been needed elsewhere."

"That's not embarrassing, that's horrible!" Rachel said, leaning over and pulling her bag out from under her chair.

"It's not over yet!" Tyler interjected, watching as Rachel slipped on her jacket. "He caused so much commotion that all his friends gave him a hard time for the rest of the year by pretending they had to walk on eggshells around him. It was quite funny, really. The next time he went to box, this guy named Nick wouldn't let him out of the dorms until Blaine allowed himself to be covered in bubblewrap. And then the next time, they just stole the punching bag altogether and taped an eviction notice to his gym locker."

Rachel smiled, a small giggle escaping her lips. "Oh god, that's hilarious!"

"Told you. Now dish. What's Kurt's horror story?"

Rachel then launched into a story that had something to do with Bambi or an old school counselor's shoes or something, and across the plane, Kurt and Blaine stopped their conversation to acknowledge the laughter they heard.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Kurt murmured.

"No idea," Blaine shrugged.

~o0o~

Upon returning to New York, Kurt Hummel decided two things.

One, he and Blaine were dating. It was something they both agreed on the first time they went to dinner together (not counting the time where everything went unintentionally wrong), and Kurt couldn't be happier.

Well, not exactly.

You see, the second thing he decided was that there was one thing about dating Blaine Anderson that he hated more than he hated knock-offs.

This thing had a name, too. _Tyler_.

Tyler was like the Anti-Kurt, put on the Earth for the sole purpose of ruining what would otherwise be a perfect setup. She wore things that made Kurt gag, her hair was horrible (curly like Blaine's, but the difference was that she didn't keep it short and probably refused to use any product _whatsoever_, even if to just tame the frizz), and she – like Rachel but on a higher, much more annoying level – was missing a filter somewhere between her brain and her mouth. And Kurt assumed she felt the same way about him.

Which is why he was surprised when she called him.

"Hello?" Kurt said, shifting his phone to rest between his ear and his shoulder so he could continue to fold his laundry.

"_Hi, Kurt? It's Tyler. Before you ask, I asked Blaine to give me your number. I'm not that creepy."_ There was a hallow laugh, like Tyler thought she was making a joke. If only Kurt's life could be that easy.

Kurt dropped the blanket he was presently holding and sat down on the edge of his bed. "Umm…Hi, I guess. Why'd you call?"

"_I actually wanted to know if you wanted to hang out sometime. I think…I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot of you, so…"_

Kurt was shocked, to say the least. It was really sweet of her to make the gesture (he especially liked the part where she said she'd be seeing a lot of him), and if she was willing to stop being self-absorbed for five minutes because of Blaine, who was he to refuse?

"Yeah. Actually, that'd be great."

That was the start of an awkward friendship that included trips for coffee and talking about work. Tyler was pretty closed off a lot of the time, and Kurt kept trying to drag her to Bloomingdales, but it was trial and error. They were learning.

It wasn't until Blaine and Kurt's first fight, though, that Tyler and Kurt finally started down the road towards being close friends.

"God, I can't _believe_ him!" Kurt fumed, sliding into the seat across from Tyler, not even bothering to thank her for the coffee cup she slid across the table absentmindedly.

Tyler rolled her eyes and leaned against the window. "Who can't you believe?"

"Your _brother_. Oh my _god_, I can't…we were just talking on the phone, and he stopped. Froze up. And I asked him why, and he said he had to go and hung up on me." Kurt closed his eyes tightly and took a long drink of coffee. The temperature was scalding, but he was too frustrated to care.

"What did you say?" Tyler asked. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and leaned forward, and even though he was angry, Kurt didn't miss it when her phone buzzed next to her and she clicked decline immediately after seeing that the caller I.D. read _Mom_.

"I asked him if he'd always been in glee club, like I had." He shrugged. "He said he hadn't, because there hadn't been a glee club at his old school. And then I asked about what it was like there. Why…_why_ would he freak out over that?"

From Kurt's point of view, all he saw were Tyler's shoulders tense. He didn't hear her internal wig-out. He didn't see her mentally mapping out how she was going to handle the situation, that she knew she'd probably call up a friend she hadn't seen in a couple of years that night as to give Blaine some space. To her credit, though, she managed to keep her cool long enough to say, "That's not my story to tell, and if you ask him tomorrow, maybe he'll be a little calmer. So let's forget about that for now and talk about something else. How were rehearsals this morning?"

And Kurt momentarily forgot about his worry. Until the next day, when the same thing happened. And then again, after that. And finally, when Kurt completely confronted Blaine, there was a back and forth argument that left Kurt showing up at Tyler and Blaine's apartment while Blaine wasn't home and wordlessly dragging Tyler into a cab.

"You _need_ to tell me what is going on with him!" Kurt said, running a finger through his hair. That was the final straw for Tyler, because though she hadn't been hanging out with Kurt for that long, she _knew_ Kurt didn't like anyone touching his hair once it had been styled. Even himself.

"Okay, okay, fine. But if I tell you this, you can't tell Blaine I said anything. And when he finally does get his head out of his ass long enough to talk to you, you're going to be _oblivious_ and _understanding_."

Kurt nodded as he directed the cab driver towards the nearest department store. And for once, Tyler didn't complain.

"So, here's the thing. Blaine was...bullied. Pretty badly, at that. He came out in eighth grade, and shortly after that, there was a Sadie Hawkins dance that he took a fellow 'out' friend to, and the dance went off without a hitch. When the whole thing was winding down, Blaine and his date – God, I can't even remember his name anymore – said they were going outside for some fresh air." Tyler took a breath and looked at Kurt, who was watching intently. "They didn't come back for a while, so I went out to the parking lot, and _fuck_," she cut herself off with a choke, the memory painful to think about without tearing up.

"Tyler? You don't have to finish if you don't want to, I mean–"

Tyler waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, don't treat me like a fucking _porcelain doll_. It's a sad story – of course I'm going to get upset, stupid," she rubbed her nose and continued. "Blaine and the other guy, well, let's just say his name was Mark, were on the street just...beaten to a _pulp_. There was so much blood, and I was so scared. I didn't even call my parents, you know that? I called my older brother. And he didn't pick up. When he finally made it to Ohio to visit Blaine in the hospital, I broke his nose."

"You broke his nose in a hospital?" Kurt asked, not wanting to dwell on the horrible mental image that was unfurling in front of him.

Tyler shook her head. "I broke his nose in a juvenile detention facility."

"You were in _juvie_?"

"I went to school that Monday, and I heard these three guys talking about how they'd attacked a _fag_ at the dance, and I lost it. Beat them all up in the middle of the hallway. Adrenaline does amazing things, you know? Next thing I know, I'm being escorted off campus by a police officer, and my dad had to bring me a duffle bag and sign some papers. I stayed there for two weeks, plus the three days I earned for slugging my brother." Tyler shrugged, toying with the pull ties on her hoodie. "Blaine was released from the hospital after a week, and even though he literally begged our parents to go to Dalton, they didn't cave until senior year. Even then I think it was just because the idea of him boarding was so appealing at the time. I followed to the sister school not a month later, because the second hand crap was so bad."

Kurt looked at her, completely astounded. "Oh my God. I _never_ would have...wow."

Tyler pursed her lips as the cab came to a stop. "Just…pretend I didn't say anything, okay? Blaine's really sensitive about high school, and he shuts down whenever it's mentioned, so if he finds out I told you – despite the fact that it's probably going to do you two a lot of good – he'd be pissed. So forget this conversation ever happened." She grabbed her purse off the seat and opened the door on her side of the car. "Now, you took me to the store against my consent, which pretty much means you offered to pay. I can live with that. Do your worst, Kurt Hummel!"

Kurt smiled and hopped out of the cab. "You can be sure I will."

~o0o~

A few nights later found our couple seated at Kurt's dining table after a performance, plates of stir fry laid out in front of them. Though Kurt wouldn't admit it, he was extensively proud of himself for making the dish successfully, as apposed to the last time he'd attempted it with Rachel and nearly burned down their apartment.

Kurt reached his hand across the table and grabbed Blaine's, lacing their fingers together. Blaine smiled and silently wondered why Kurt was having the sudden change in behavior.

"Thank you for coming over even though we've been fighting," Kurt said quietly, allowing his thumb to graze the back of Blaine's knuckles. "I'm sorry about everything that happened – it was stupid of me to overreact like that. You can tell me on your own time."

Blaine sighed. _Of course it had to be about this_, he thought. At least Kurt was being more understanding now, but he still didn't appreciate the fact that it was still an issue. It had been a topic of discussion for days, and Blaine was just ready for it to be _over with_ for the night. "No, it's fine. I will explain, I promise, just not...not right now. Okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Now eat, because I want to watch a movie. It's your turn to pick."

"And you get to be the little spoon," Blaine winked, before removing his hand from Kurt's so he could pick up his fork. He suddenly had a feeling it was going to be a very good night, and he wasn't going to mess with that, but maybe...

Maybe he could tell Kurt tomorrow.

~o0o~

Tyler was lounging on the couch the next morning with a book when she heard a key turn in the lock and saw Blaine attempt to duck into the kitchen before she could tease him. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

"Taking the walk of shame, are we?" she called out, setting her book down on the side table. Her voice was thick with sleep, and she probably looked like shit, but Tyler's occupation of annoying little sister (by thirteen minutes) was an around the clock sort of job. At least she was_ trying_.

"It's not the..._god-dammit_, Tyler, aren't you supposed to be in bed?" he wandered into the sitting room with a glass of orange juice. He was dressed in the same clothing Tyler had last seen him in – though they were considerably more rumpled – and his hair was lost somewhere between Chia Pet and _death_.

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping into her features. "What're you doing _out _of it?"

Blaine rolled his eyes, and Tyler gave him props for not blushing, but she knew he was probably mortified on the inside. "Answer the question."

"I couldn't sleep," Tyler shrugged. It wasn't a lie; when she came home the night before and found that Blaine wasn't there, her mind was left to wander. She was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to look Kurt in the eye the next time she met him for coffee. However, that didn't mean she was going to let up on Blaine; she had confidence in him not to divulge anything too scandalous. "So...one thing."

"What?"

"Top or bo–"

"Not a chance."

~o0o~

Tyler didn't like shopping.

It was something she'd always hated, saving for the last minute when she possibly couldn't go any longer without buying that new pair of shoes, or getting an outfit for so-and-so's wedding. She supposed it stemmed from her mother taking her out when she was a kid, refusing to buy those baggy, plaid, comfy-looking "boy's" shorts in favor of a dress or a blouse with some sort of itchy lacing, and then, not a week later, seeing one of her brothers being given the same pair of shorts she wished she could have.

Nowadays, she wore what she liked, and that made it easier. She always ended up looking at stuff for Blaine, too, convincing herself that shopping was okay, as long as it was for someone else. And then as soon as she had her bags in hand, she'd run from the store like she was avoiding the plague.

That's what she was doing now – browsing the tables of shoes, looking for a more durable pair of sandals than the crappy ones she was wearing at the moment. And then someone recognized her. For a moment, it was like something out of her worst nightmare; getting caught by someone you knew when you weren't decent, and everything just went downhill from there, like, oh yeah, you just remembered you weren't wearing pants. But then she pinpointed the voice and realized she'd never quite been "decent" around this person.

"Ms. Anderson, how good to see you again!"

Tyler turned to face someone she hadn't seen in years: her dance instructor from her days at NYADA. She smiled and scrambled to gather her thoughts and appear more professional, ultimately coming across just the slightest bit flustered by the surprise. "Ms. Jacobson! How are you?" She leaned casually against a table, almost knocking down a display shelf of Sperry Topsiders. A sales lady from across the isle gave her a dirty look, and because she was in the presence of an old teacher, Tyler _actually managed _not to flip her off.

"Well, still teaching dance," she muttered good-naturedly as she slipped a wallet into her purse. "How about you? What has one of my most fabulous dancers been up to lately?"

Tyler blushed and ducked her head down to look at her feet, embarrassed even though she had enough of an ego to know it was a little bit true. She'd been a great dancer, even by Ms. Jacobson's standards. It was something she'd always done; she took classes as a kid, and Crawford Country Day didn't have a show choir, but a mixed-style dance team. "Not much, really. I haven't…well, it's not that I haven't _tried_, but…acting, musicals, dancing…didn't really work out for me."

Ms. Jacobson nodded understandingly. "Hmm. That's not to say it's not something you want to do anymore, is it? Because the choreography department is actually looking for a paid intern, and it would be really nice if I didn't have to rely completely on background checks and personality surveys to determine who I want to take the position."

In that moment, Tyler blanched, and her jaw probably – no, _did_ – drop through the floor. "Y-you're serious?" all the passion she'd once felt for doing something productive in her life (and by that she meant something _other_ than slinging beers or shots across a lacquered wooden platform and trying to keep to a nocturnal-type schedule), flooded back in, and she found herself jumping for joy on the inside.

She could give undergraduates all her tips and tricks for navigating classes for the first time, and she'd finally had someone to share her "100 reasons why you should not show up to Professor Mitchell's theory class late" list with. The picture unfolding in her mind was glorious.

Also, chances were that the internship would pay better than a life as a bartender. And nine a.m. wouldn't feel like midnight.

"As serious as I'll ever be, Ms. Anderson."

Tyler grinned. "Where do I sign?"

~o0o~

**To Tyler: Blaine told me. We cried. I think we're gonna be okay for now.**

**From Tyler: That's great. :) Oh, by the way, I have some big news…**

~o0o~

**End Notes**: EEE! I hope you liked it; I was kind of all over the place with this chapter, but I've got so much planned after this!


	10. Stop, Look, Listen A Reevaluation

**Notes: **xxrachiefishxx HAS THE BEST COMMENTS EVER AND THIS CHAPTER IS ONE I PROBABLY WILL NEVER BE OKAY WITH AND THIS HAS BEEN CAPS LOCK SO HAVE FUN.

~o0o~

Stop, Look, Listen – A Reevaluation

Sometimes Blaine wondered what he was doing.

Not in the sense that he would zone out and come back in at some weird, bizarre moment with nothing to do but say "What the hell?", because of course everyone did that sometimes. And anyone who didn't was either lying or as far away from human as you could get without being from Mars.

No, Blaine wondered what he was doing in his_ life_.

He knew he couldn't be a bartender forever; he'd had many a dream of being a pathetic eighty-year-old man that wore earplugs to work and nearly passed out when the stress of too many orders all at once started getting to him, and it wasn't something he ever wanted to consider.

Still, for the past few years he'd gotten into a habit of thinking in the _now_, not worrying about where he wanted to be by the time he was, say, thirty-five. He just thought, _now I'm working at a bar. We go from here._

He thought TV sitcoms were so stupid for exploring all the characters' thoughts after someone experienced a career change, or a life-altering situation. He thought it was especially stupid that everyone was always thinking the same thing – _I could do better_. But now…now he understood. Because the second Tyler said, "I just got a job at NYADA", his mind replied with, _now it's time for you to go back to teaching_.

The more he thought about it though, the more he questioned if he really _wanted _to sit in a music classroom all day, teaching kindergarteners how to play_ Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star_ on the xylophone. Which brought him to this point, where he was just plain confused about what he was feeling.

He stood in the middle of his bedroom, pacing the small space. Tyler had just gone to be fitted for what was deemed acceptable "work attire", and because Blaine didn't want to be there when she clawed the sales person's eyes out for trying to force her into some kind of ultimate price tango, he was left to his own devices until she came back and Kurt got done with morning rehearsals and met him for lunch.

He would touch the wall above his nightstand, glance down at the few pictures he had sitting there, then turn around and walk back to the other side of the room, where he would lean his head against the doorframe for just a few moments before repeating the cycle. He honestly felt a little distraught.

After a several more minutes, he finally sat down on his bed and retrieved his laptop, hoping that some mindless web surfing would allow him to bury his woes just long enough so that he actually had someone to talk to. Instead, as he was just about to type in the URL to some random, funny screen-cap site, he found himself staring at the google search bar.

He shook his head once, typed in _Requirements for teaching English in middle school_, and pressed search.

Maybe there wouldn't be that many results.

But it was a start.

~o0o~

"Remember when I said I went to school to become a teacher?" Blaine asked warily as Kurt sat down on the bench beside him. He accepted his cup of hot chocolate gratefully – peppermint because it was almost Christmas, it was snowy, and he just fucking _could_ – and took a tentative sip to monitor the temperature.

Kurt nodded. "Yeah, I did. Are you wanting to go back to that?"

Blaine blinked, completely surprised. "How'd you know?"

"Well," Kurt started, completely amused. A smile pulled at his eyes, and with the sun making its way to his hair through the clouds, he looked perfect. "It was either that, or: 'Remember when I said I went to school to be a teacher? Yeah, that was a bullshit move. I've just decided to become a stripper and live out the rest of my days wasting money on heroin,'" Kurt's voice dropped low when he imitated Blaine, and Blaine had to admit – he hadn't realize exactly how much range Kurt had before now. "I figured that didn't exactly sound like you. So I went with my first choice."

"Oh," Blaine said. In truth, he probably should have expected that kind of response. He just didn't know how to continue from here. Thankfully, Kurt already knew Blaine well enough to know that he might need to ease the conversation along.

"What prompted this? I mean, are you looking for jobs?"

"Tyler," Blaine admitted. "Her new job kind of forced me into a paradigm shift, you know? I kind of just realized, 'hey, it's been a while. You can try again'. And last night was even more of that, because being at the bar without her really isn't fun. In fact, it's kind of depressing."

Kurt laughed. "She's not forcing you into anything, and I can imagine that being there without her would be boring. If I hadn't practically run you down in the club, I never would have believed you worked there. You don't seem like the type."

"And by that you mean I wear too many bowties."

Kurt smiled and reached over to straighten Blaine's current bowtie, a purple one peeking out from underneath his snow-flecked winter coat. He shook his head. "No," he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Blaine's mouth, "you wear just the perfect amount of bowties."

Blaine shrugged and wrapped his arm around Kurt's shoulders. He looked out into the park, at the kids building lopsided, gray, slushy looking snowmen, dogs digging their noses down, looking for grass. One parent chasing after a kid that was completely _covered_ in slush. It was just a normal Sunday morning. It was nice.

"The thing is, though, I'd have to go back to school for about a year," Blaine explained, "which means I'd need to find a new job that allowed me to be up and around during the day without experiencing sleep deprivation. I'm pretty close to passing out right now." Blaine yawned then in example, turning his head up to look at the sky. It wasn't snowing too much at the moment – the majority of the snowfall had happened the night before – and the clouds were caught somewhere between off-white and gray.

"Wait, then why'd you suggest we meet up? Sweetheart, if you're _tired_, you _sleep_. And I realize I have an afternoon show today, but if you really wanted to see me, you could have just asked me to come over instead of meeting me in the park. We could have watched a movie or something."

Blaine chuckled. "I would have fallen asleep on you. I can't easily fall asleep on a snowy park bench, can I? So here we are."

"Naps are always good," Kurt countered. "And for God's sake, you managed to dress yourself, but you forgot to shave. That's a bad sign right there."

"Oh yeah," Blaine said, surrendering. He probably would have thrown his hands up in the air, too, if it weren't for the fact that he was he was presently clutching his hot chocolate like his life depended on it. And besides, there was no reason for him to mention the fact that he purposefully didn't shave that morning unless he wanted to be nitpicky.

"You're an idiot, you know that? A lovely one, but an idiot nonetheless," Kurt mused. "Anyway, you need a job. Since you're already doing stuff with drinks, why not just look for an opening in a coffee house?"

"I'm a_ bartender_, Kurt. A bartender. I mix alcoholic drinks, not coffee."

"Oh come on. You make yourself coffee almost every morning. And if it makes you feel better, I'll help you sneak a bottle of kahlua behind the counter. Those customers won't know what hit them."

"_Kurt_."

Kurt chuckled. "Fine, fine. Do what you want. I'm just teasing. You don't need any more access to coffee anyway. You say you're half asleep, but you look jittery enough to be pulled aside by airport security. Actually…we need to get you on a normal sleeping schedule by Christmas so that doesn't happen."

Blaine smiled, imagining what it would be like when Kurt met his parents. Maybe a little forced, at first. It had always been that way when Cooper brought a girl home; his parents attempted too many things at once. Like trying to get a read on the girl that just _had_ to be "the one", keeping Tyler from being a smartass (which, when accomplished, was probably worth a gold medal or something), and pointing out to Blaine that Cooper put himself out there and actually talked to people. No, it wasn't always…_pleasant_, but it was familiar, it was dysfunctional as any family could be, and Blaine had never been the one experiencing it before.

He couldn't _wait_.

~o0o~

**From Rachel: Hey, can you come over? I need to talk to you; it's important.**

**From Kurt: Yeah...? I'll be there in a few minutes. **

~o0o~

"Rachel, what's going on?" Kurt asked as the door to her apartment opened. He heard a quiet sniffling from behind the door, but didn't quite grasp the extent of what was going on until he laid eyes on his friend.

Her face was red and blotchy, her eyes puffy and swollen from crying. And one thing about twenty-seven year old Rachel you need to know – she didn't cry easily. Kurt actually couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her upset, much less sobbing like this. To be completely honest, it scared the shit out of him.

"Aaron _proposed _yesterday," she choked.

Kurt was genuinely surprised. When he'd gotten her text message, he'd gone through his standard checklist of Rachel-woes – getting a negative review, being homesick after getting off the phone with her dads, working herself up because a big-time producer was going to be at her next show. _Never_ would he have expected this. And yet, he was confused. "Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"

She actually laughed at that, even though she was shaking with tears. "I know, and I was...I was happy, and I said yes and we started talking about planning you know, because his grandmother is terminal so he wants to have the wedding soon, just in case, and that...that's fine, I understand, I do, but then I realized that this is all happening so _fast_. And how...how could I get married when I haven't even manned up enough to talk to my _last_ boyfriend about our scrapped engagement?"

Kurt sighed and slowly wrapped his arms around Rachel. "Oh, Honey," he muttered, trying not to cringe when she sniffed and bawled into his shirt.

Kurt couldn't tell you how long they stood like that in Rachel's entrance hall before Rachel pulled away (leaving a big wet spot on Kurt's chest), and wiped her eyes. "I just got off of Skype with Finn."

"And?"

She shrugged. "We'll be okay, I think. Things just got kind of heavy while we were talking and I guess I just needed to talk to someone other than Aaron about it."

"What did he say? I know he's my brother and everything, but we're not related. And besides; if he was an ass I think Carole would be okay with me slapping him," Kurt asked, and though he was playing it off as a joke, he meant every word. Finn was a little hard-headed, and sometimes needed to be told when he was doing something that hurt someone's feelings.

Rachel shook her head. "Kurt, he was fine. I just...I don't love him anymore. I haven't for a long time. I guess I was afraid to admit that because it would mean losing what was the perfect fantasy for the longest time. And I was right. It _hurt_. It took everything I had not to cry while we were talking."

Kurt nodded sympathetically, pulling Rachel over to the couch and sitting her down carefully with a god-awful print blanket and her slippers that had been haphazardly thrown to opposite ends of the room. "Can I tell you a story?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow, a cocky expression peeking through her tears. "Do I know it?"

Kurt just shrugged, not giving a straight answer. Rachel was going to listen either way – she wasn't in a position to argue, and Kurt didn't exactly care for putting up with resistance. "Okay, so a long time a go in a land far, _far_ away, there was a prince. And he was the only prince in the whole kingdom, so all the other kids made fun of him for being snooty and 'upper-class'," Kurt started.

Rachel snorted a little bit, leaning over and twining herself around Kurt's arm, and with her head smooshed into his shoulder. It felt eerily like a high school slumber party. "So you're a _prince_ now?"

"Okay, I get that you're upset, but for god's sake, girl, you're _engaged_. So shut up and let me have my moment."

"Point taken."

"Good. Okay, where was I..." Kurt muttered. "Oh! So one day, one of the worst hecklers from a while back starts being nice to the prince. And they become friends. Then, one day, the prince makes a mistake–" _stupid, stupid mistake! You'll never make it again! _"–and kisses the heckler. Except he doesn't know it is a mistake at the time. So they start courting, and when the prince graduates prince school and travels to a foreign country for...foreign-type studies, the heckler comes with him."

Rachel moaned. "Kurt, I know how this ends. I heard you bitch about it for nearly a year. So can you _please_ cut to the chase?"

Kurt narrowed his eyes at her. "Stories can't be rushed, Rachel! When you have kids, I'm sure they'll tell you that once they have the words!" he dug his nails into the couch and continued, trying to keep his temper in check. Now wasn't the time to be a hot head. "Anyway, it turns out that the heckler is only courting the prince because rumor has it he is destined to be this fantastic king in the country of…_fuck this_, Broadway. But instead, he rejects the throne and starts making robes and tunics for the peasants, so the heckler breaks it off with him."

"That's a nice way of saying Karofsky pulled a Jesse on you," Rachel hummed and pulled back to look at him, a small imprint of his jacket's pattern pressed into her cheek.

"Did I once say Karofsky? No. I think the term I specified was heckler. But my point is, the prince lost his fairytale – however misguided it was – and it did hurt. For a long time. And now, that very same prince has found another prince that he loves and cares about very much. It's not what other people would consider one, but it is his personally tailored fairytale. Yours is with Aaron; you just have to look past the fact that you're not going to get that epic nine year long love story like you thought you were after graduation."

Rachel nodded slowly. "When you said other prince, you were talking about Blaine, right?"

Kurt groaned and took a minute to wonder why he'd even bothered with disguising his biggest mistake. "Yes. It's Blaine."

"And you realize you just said you love him?"

Kurt thought back to just a few moments before, and bit his lip. "Yeah. I guess I did."

"Do you really?"

Kurt smiled. "You know, I actually think I do."

~o0o~

There was something about walking through the NYADA halls that reminded Tyler of how small she was. Perhaps it was the four years of being told to fear her professors above all else resurfacing. Maybe it was the fact that here she was, surrounded by all these students with the same hopes and dreams that she'd had not too long ago, and that all those dreams had been crushed within the six months following her graduation. She'd failed to make a contribution, therefore she was small. And it almost made her sick to her stomach.

Until, however, she stepped foot in the dance rehearsal room. Because there, she was interning. There, she knew more than the people that were watching her. There, Ms. Jacobson gave kind constructive criticism and told her what she was doing correctly.

It was more structured, and that made it okay. She found this incredibly strange, considering the way she'd lived her life on sketchy sleep-schedules and questionable milk for the past few years. But it worked, and she was happy. She was ecstatic, actually, and wondered if her life was ever going to get any better. If it even could.

Which it could. But things have to get worse before they get better, and now's not the time to start that story.

~o0o~

On the day that Kurt informed his agent that his understudy would need to be working the holidays, he got recognized in public for the first time.

He was texting Blaine on the subway home, and someone asked him about the musical and told him that they were a fan. He was so touched, and he spent the majority of his night flailing to Blaine. Because he didn't feel pressured to. He didn't feel like he had with David, where every small detail was an incentive that might further their relationship. With Blaine, he talked about these things because he knew Blaine didn't care. That if Kurt decided he wanted to quit the musical and become something completely mundane, he wouldn't stop for a moment to even reconsider their relationship. Because for Blaine, watching Kurt on stage was just an aesthetic perk that more often than not resulted in staying the night at Kurt's, armed with an excuse that would help him survive returning home to Tyler the next morning. (_"Where were you last night?" "Oh, I stayed at Kurt's because it was too late to catch a cab back to this side of town."_)

And that was when he knew he loved Blaine more than he'd ever loved anyone else.

Frankly, it was frightening. But for Blaine?

It was well worth the fright.

~o0o~

Blaine liked coffee.

Blaine did _not_ like working in a coffee shop.

Especially not at a Starbucks that was always so crowded because people were too dense to realize that they could easily get better coffee at a place that wasn't advertised on billboards every five blocks.

But that's exactly what he was doing now, after prodding by Kurt – it took him two days and some…_persuasive maneuvers_ (courtesy of Kurt) in the middle of a movie - to actually agree to applying, and then five days after that, he was situated behind a counter for his third day and reconsidering Kurt's kahlua offer with every passing second. Currently, he was snapping the lid onto a drink that was apparently for someone named Jessica, but she might as well have been Satan in disguise. She had so many specific add-ons she wanted for her coffee, and he'd already re-made the drink twice. He didn't get why she wouldn't just accept the coffee and leave, regardless of if it wasn't exactly what she'd ordered. That's how he personally would have dealt with the situation, even if there wasn't much you could really mess up with a medium drip.

He finally got the order correct, and she was on her way, but then he had to deal with the customers that had been waiting longer than usual for their drinks. It was like an endless cycle of Hell. He didn't plan to work here forever – he'd already re-applied to NYU to go through their student teacher program, and he wouldn't be able to work once that started – but he'd much rather be biding his time in a place where the words "regulars" and "I'll have my usual" were present.

The clock read twelve fifteen though, and that was all that mattered. Because at twelve thirty, Kurt would stop by and trade Blaine a sandwich for a cup of coffee, and Blaine would take off for an hour for his break, in which they would sit in the corner and discuss Christmas and the merits of pretending there was such a thing as Santa Claus, because apparently they did that sort of thing now.

He just hoped he could last that long.

~o0o~

It wasn't that Tyler didn't like airports. She just had a healthy distaste for them, she always had. Who didn't? They were probably among the grossest places on Earth, right behind a kindergarten classroom. Oh, and also, she had been on standby for two hours while she waited for a flight to visit her father on his potential death bed. Let's not forget about that.

That was all before she knew Kurt. Now Blaine had decided that it would be a great idea if he, Tyler, Kurt, Rachel, and Aaron went to the airport all together. Now, she hated them. Because Kurt was extremely punctual, and he had everyone hounded into the terminal four hours before their scheduled boarding time. Which meant she now had two hundred forty minutes of unsanitary bathrooms, crowds of people, and disgustingly portable food to deal with.

She was currently sitting in a chair at their gate, arms twined around her knees. She stared while Rachel and Aaron fawned over Rachel's engagement ring and watched Blaine wave his arms around flamboyantly when Kurt said something about the new Vogue (_Oh God, it's like Pandora's Box_, was all she could think, and she hoped his enthusiasm had faded by the time she was alone with him). She felt so very excluded, like if she were to even give her input on either of the conversations, she'd be being pushy.

"Hey, I'm going to go get a snack, anybody want anything?" Kurt asked, brushing off the legs of his pants before standing up and turning in the direction of where all the food stands were.

Tyler's head flung up, having been completely immersed in her thoughts. She shook her head and reached over Blaine's legs for her backpack, wondering why Kurt, who was normally against any and all processed food, was making his way towards a generic looking kiosk. She retrieved her IPod and put the earbuds in, putting on her "I'm freaking the fuck out on the inside and I need to calm down ASAP" playlist, and it was just starting to work when the music player died. So she tried to talk to Aaron, whom she had never met. And he was pretty much the male equivalent of Rachel on a lesser scale, so her interest faltered after a mere thirty seconds, and she turned away abrubtly and went back to her music.

If this was a model for how the rest of her holiday was going to go, she wasn't so sure she _wanted_ to bother with getting on the plane.

~o0o~

Aaron and Rachel went to Lima, while Kurt came with Tyler and Blaine to Westerville so he could meet their parents. Tyler made gagging noises all the way home, because Kurt and Blaine kept leaning over to kiss at the stoplights.

(Maybe Blaine got hopeful and purposefully hung mistletoe from his car's rearview mirror before he left Ohio in November, knowing that his parents would drop if off at the airport when he came back. And maybe they were milking it just a little. Maybe).

~o0o~

End Notes: Yeah. So. Chapter 10. That was it. Be happy! WOOO...


	11. A New Year's Mishap

**Hey guys, sooo….sorry for the wait. I started up school a few weeks ago, and the change has been kicking my ass. So. Here you go. It's not very long, but, you know…**

~o0o~

A New Year's Mishap

The Anderson Twins' reunion with their parents was nothing if not bittersweet and awkward. Not two minutes into the greeting, it felt like an interrogation, like Emily and Michael couldn't get answers out of Kurt fast enough. But Kurt took it all in stride, effortlessly settling to rest any and all worries they might have had, and putting to great use the art of deflection. ("Yes, Mrs. Anderson, I'm a Broadway performer. No, I'm not in the public eye a lot. Yes, I've done a live interview. Yes, I like Blaine a lot. No, I don't think we intend to break up any time soon. And oh, that's a pretty scarf, where'd you get it?")

Cooper and Tyler were given the task of suitcases, as Blaine was the one with the guest. Blaine _also_ persuaded his parents to conveniently "forget" to make up the bed in the guest room, and Tyler gaped at that, sure that if she ever brought a boy home…

She actually stopped herself, knowing that such an occurrence was unlikely and that her parents would gladly allow a boy to sleep in her childhood bedroom if it meant she'd be married within the next year.

Cooper, being the kind of ass he was, left Tyler the biggest suitcase and took off up the stairs. She grumbled and followed behind him, saying something about how he was the worst brother to grace the Earth. Not that Cooper exactly _cared_. In fact, he probably took pride in that statement. She kept muttering it anyway.

Downstairs, Blaine and Kurt sat on the stools in the living room, talking with Emily while she stooped over the couch, trying to remove some sort of stain. Blaine assumed it had been left there by Cooper, who had a bad habit of eating half-melted things without any sort of plate or something to catch the crumbs.

"So, Kurt…"

~o0o~

Their second night in town was when all of Tyler's issues came to a boil. Dinner was slow-grilled chicken and vegetables, which were being cooked in the garage (the grill's temporary residence in the winter), and Michael took Blaine, Kurt, and Cooper out to see if they could help him fix a problem with the propane tank. They ended up just sitting on the concrete and talking after a while, but that's not what did it.

Blaine excused himself to the bathroom and went inside, stopping when he heard Emily bustling about the kitchen. He saw it coming a mile away as soon as she pulled out the cookie sheet and laid out all the ingredients for the Christmas cookies he hadn't eaten in years. She went over to where Tyler was seated – at the desk in the living room, clacking away at something on her keyboard – and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Sweetie, come help me with the cookies," Emily said, and Blaine couldn't help but feel a little scared for her.

"No thanks," Tyler grumbled, momentarily looking up to acknowledge her mother.

"Honey, do you even know _how_ to bake? When you're married one day–"

That was when Tyler broke. It wasn't like what Emily had said was horrifying and terrible. It was that Tyler had been hearing the same things over and over all her life, and she was done. Blaine could see it happen, like a bomb went off on the inside of her skull, and she _lost _it.

In retrospect, Blaine should have been waiting for this moment since they stepped foot in the house.

"Has it ever crossed your mind that when I was done typing this email, I was going to go out and see Dad? That I don't like to bake? Or maybe – just maybe – I don't _want _to get married to a guy that _expects_ me to bake for him? And, oh here's an idea, maybe I don't want to get married _at all_." Tyler said sourly, her voice quavering dangerously. She swiveled around in her chair and stood up, the height difference between she and Emily making the scene look almost comical, the way Tyler had to tilt her head back just slightly so she could look her mother in the face.

Emily looked shell shocked, but she said nothing, which was probably a good thing, because Tyler just kept talking. It was like she was scrambling to say everything she'd wanted to since she grasped the concept that some of the things her mother said to her _hurt_.

"Ever since I was a little kid, you wanted me to be the perfect poised daughter. That's not me. I don't wear dresses, I never liked playing with Barbie's, and I sure as _hell _don't bake because it's written in some seriously _ass-backwards_ gender stereotype contract you've been treating like the _Bible_ since the moment I was born!

"But you know what? Every now and again I'll come home and there'll be brownies or _something_ on a cooling rack, because _Blaine _knows that I won't come within five feet of a spatula unless it's to lick it, so he fucking _does it himself_ because he wants dessert and he actually _enjoys_ it. So if you really want help in the kitchen that badly, go ask him. But don't try and get me to do this just because I have boobs." Tyler picked up her laptop and stormed out of the room, a metaphorical trail of angry steam the only thing to mark her presence.

Emily just stood there, her jaw hanging loose like she'd just been slapped. Blaine studied her expression for a moment before slowly backing out the room. He could hear the rumbling of a car engine starting up, and he remembered all the times when she'd leave the house and drive around because someone would say just the wrong thing, and every time, she'd swear she wasn't coming back. She'd spam Blaine's phone with declarations of apologies, promise she'd come for him when she had a plan.

And then, two hours later, the window in Blaine's room would open, and Tyler would crawl through and persuade him to go get her some ice cream from the freezer before collapsing face down on his bed (which wasn't bad unless she was covered in mud, which yes, had happened one time. He didn't know how, but it happened), and sobbing about everything that was wrong with the world. This happened so frequently for a while, he started keeping a mini-fridge in his closet.

Tonight, Blaine actually wondered if this would be the time when she'd be true to her word.

~o0o~

"Kurt?"

"Yeah, Bee?"

"You think Tyler'll be okay?"

"I…hmm. If you're talking about with your mom, I honestly don't know."

"It's three a.m. She hasn't come home yet."

"Oh. She'll be okay, then."

"Maybe I should see if I can find her?"

"No, that's the worst thing you could do."

"But…"

"I know her, Blaine. I know she's only a year younger than me, but she reminds me a lot of myself as a teenager. Strong willed, independent. She does things without thinking, but she's not stupid. She'll come back when she's ready."

"I just want to make sure she's alright."

"Trust me, giving her space is the best thing you could do for her right now. Now _please,_ come back to bed."

~o0o~

Blaine slept restlessly, and by extension, so did Kurt. He spent most of the night just running his fingers soothingly through Blaine's hair, grabbing his hand and kissing his temple and convincing him to stay in bed when he'd halted the action long enough for Blaine to think he could slip out of the room unnoticed. And when they walked down to the kitchen in the morning, yawning quite openly and making beelines for the coffee pot, they were startled to find Tyler seated at the island, clad in pajamas and slippers like she'd never left.

Kurt watched the whole scene play out. Blaine froze for a split second before barreling forward and very nearly hurtling himself into her lap.

"Where _were_ you?" Blaine asked, his voice muffled into her shoulder.

She shrugged. "I just drove around for a while. I think I made it to Columbus and back three times."

"Please, _please_, tell me next time. Please."

"I promise."

~o0o~

Christmas morning came and went. Tyler didn't speak much, despite Emily's efforts to pretend nothing out of the ordinary was going on. But then, the situation had been Tyler's norm for a long time as a kid. In a sense, nothing out of the ordinary _was_ going on.

They put all of their things in the trunk after opening presents (just ones exchanged between immediate family; Blaine insisted that all presents for Kurt be given to him at his parents' house), and pulled out onto the street.

The ride was quiet, but not intentionally so – being around Blaine's parents for extended periods of time proved to be exhausting, and both Blaine and Kurt were trying to relax. Blaine glanced out the window as the setting morphed into one he was less familiar with, signaling their imminent arrival in Lima, Ohio. Blaine's throat closed up. He wasn't nervous, really, but something about leaving Tyler in Westerville with their parents seemed wrong.

Kurt noticed after a few moments. "You okay?"

"I don't know?" Blaine shook his head. "I almost feel bad about all of this, you know? I know my parents aren't the best, but I never really caught any of it. It was like…I was just going to be their favorite, no matter what. I hardly got in trouble. When I came out, they took it out on Tyler. I think they confronted Cooper about it, too, but y'know, he had moved out by then, so it wasn't like it affected him that much. And because of that…when my dad asked me for a second chance…I was so ready. I just wanted to go back so bad. I didn't even really think about what it was doing to her."

Kurt nodded thoughtfully. "Well, despite popular belief, you're only human, Sweetie. And humans? Dreadfully _stupid_ creatures driven by emotions. All they want is to be loved, and you're no different."

Blaine chuckled softly, but said nothing. He suddenly appeared interested in a collection of cows grazing in a field on the side of the road.

"If it makes you feel better, I can call home right now and get Carole to send Finn back to Westerville for Tyler. They'd be back in time for dinner if he left within the next fifteen minutes."

"Would Finn mind?"

"Nope. I've been training him to run errands for me without question since we were kids – he'll do it. And besides, Dad did tell you to bring Tyler along next time you visited. You should take him up on that."

"Well…"

"Blaine."

"Okay, fine. Do it."

~o0o~

"Blaine, I've been waiting in the park with my suitcase for the last thirty minutes. Any longer, and all these kids will start to think I'm homeless. I thought you said this Finn guy was almost here?"

"_He is, Ty! Kurt's on the phone with him right now. Just give it a couple more minutes, okay?"_

Tyler sighed solemnly. "Fine. _Fine._"

"_Okay, Kurt says he's there, so I'm gonna let you go. I'll see you in an hour or so, okay? Oh, also? Kurt says Finn will be, and these are his words, not mine, 'the skyscraper in a purple hoodie'. Bye."_

"Bye, Blaine," Tyler returned, and pressed end.

"Hey, did you just say Blaine?"

Tyler had to crane her neck back to see the face of the guy who was talking to her. "Yeah?"

"Are you Tyler? I'm Finn."

"Nice to meet you, Finn."

~o0o~

Burt loved Tyler_. Loved_ her. If there wasn't a reason for Burt to root for Kurt and Blaine before, there was now. From the moment she stepped into the house, they'd covered everything from football to politics, and she – while she didn't agree with everything Burt had to say – was very blunt in her beliefs, which was something Burt respected highly.

When it became fairly obvious Burt and Tyler were going to talk for a lot longer, Blaine and Kurt excused themselves to pile all of their things into Kurt's old room. Knowing Kurt now, Blaine could pick out certain signature traits he hadn't before, even with the childlike air that clouded most everything. The way Kurt talked about his childhood...it made sense in a sort of depressing way. He had to be so grown up for the rest of the world, why shouldn't he be allowed to tape Broadway posters to his walls and have a collection of stuffed animals on display in the back corner?

He hummed softly to himself and shrugged in to a pair of pajamas. _It didn't matter_, he decided. _His past doesn't matter as long as he's here and happy._

He thought about this for a while longer, waving softly when Tyler stuck her head into the room on her way to bed.

He knew for sure he was right when Kurt fell asleep with his head in the crook of his elbow.

And besides.

No one should be defined by their past. If that weren't the case, he'd be the saddest excuse for a person on the planet.

~o0o~

Kurt had always been a huge advocate of New Year's, especially as a teenager. He never told anyone, but something about being able to wish for a better year, a new start, anything, made him feel so much better about his situation. For a couple of minutes every year, he didn't have to feel hopeless.

Of course, there had always been that little part of him that knew what was coming as soon as the two week break from school ended, but he had always tried to keep things positive. In a way, he liked New Year's more than Christmas.

Burt at least knew that much, and set about making their lazy but family-oriented day as fun as possible. Carole and Kurt made breakfast. No one in the house was allowed out of their pajamas until at _least_ noon, and they attempted to finish a game of Monopoly in under three hours. Attempted.

Kurt found, though, that he had the most fun when he snuck off to the basement with Blaine to watch Disney movies like the five year old Blaine was slowly turning him into.

And for once, when midnight came, he didn't have anything to wish for.

He did, however, have someone to kiss.

~o0o~

When Tyler woke up, she had a terrible headache and couldn't remember much.

The feeling always bothered her, having black spots in her memory. She remembered running off to the basement with Finn, a bottle of tequila, and a plan to force Kurt and Blaine into a game of "Never Have I Ever" after Kurt's parents went to bed. Evidently, the plan had worked.

"_Oh my god_, I am so hung over," Tyler groaned, rolling over and grabbing for a pillow to smash her face in to. Instead, her head collided with an arm. Which is when she decided it was a good idea to open her eyes.

She wasn't in the Hummel's guest bedroom. She wasn't anywhere she recognized, actually, but that didn't bother her – none of what she saw looked particularly threatening. A bedroom with a dresser and a small looking desk. Just a normal room.

She looked to her left, and just about squealed in surprise.

She was in bed with Finn Hudson.

"Well," she breathed, "this complicates things…"

~o0o~

**WHOOPS MY FINGERS SLIPPED I'M SORRY. On the bright side, you can come express your anger at me on Tumblr, where my URL is: thisisseriousamaninadressisd ead. *u***


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